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ROOSEVELT DAM, ARIZONA, JUST BEFORE ITS DEDICATION BY EX-PRESIDENT ROOSEVELT 

MARCH, I9II 





UNCLE SAM’S 
OUTDOOR MAGIC 

BOBBY CULLEN WITH THE 
RECLAMATION WORKERS 


BY 

PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH 


ILLUSTRATED 



HARPER y BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
NEW YORK AND LONDON 





Uncle Sam’s Outdoor Magic 

Copyright, 1916, by Harper & Brothers 
Printed in the United States of America 
Published October, 1916 

K-Q 

©GI.A44530C 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. page 

I. Little Drops of Water 3 

II. Bobby Has His Wish 12 

III. Wentworth’s Boat 30 

IV. The Scout Law 39 

V. Some Jolliers ^ *53 

VI. “Crusty” 61 

VII. Bobby Gives His Word 74 

VIII. What Bobby Heard in the Wagon 80 

IX. Some History, a Little Geography, and a Little 

Agriculture . . . • 91 

X. Bobby Hears of Red Thornton no 

XI. An Accident .126 

XII. Work and an Adventure 146 

XIII. Red’s Plans 165 

XIV. The Cut-off 184 

XV. Shades of the Ancients 195 

XVI. The Cruise of the “Slow-poke” 205 

XVII. Two Letters i 221 

XVIII. The Land Where the Sage Used to Grow . . 233 

XIX. At the End of the Lateral 249 

XX. The Well 263 

XXL Bobby Cullen Finds Himself 268 

XXII. The Good Scout Law 283 

XXIII. Bobby Decides , . 292 

XXIV. Plans 3^4 







ILLUSTRATIONS 



Roosevelt Dam, Arizona, Just Before Its Dedi- 
cation BY Ex-President Roosevelt, March, 

1911 

Red Thornton Rescues Bobby . 

Hand Over Hand He Raised Himself, Struggling 

Against the Falling Water 

Reaching the House Door, Bobby Gave It a Sound- 
ing Rap 


Frontispiece 
Facing p . 1 44 


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Away out West where the cactus grows 
And the land is parched and dry; 

Where stuff wonH raise 
And cows can't graze 

And the sun is hot in the sky; 

Where the sage-brush grows 
And the sand-storm blows 
And the drought it stifles and kills — 

Old Uncle Sam, with his sleeves rolled up, 
Is makin* a lake in the hills. 

‘Til give it a drink of water," he said, 
“And ril do it right," said he; 

“And ril dig a ditch — 

No droughts and sich 

Can do as they like with me," 

So he dug a ditch 
Through all of which 
The water began to flow. 

And seeds were sowed 
And crops were growed 

In the land where the sage used to grow. 


V 


V 


/ 



/ 



UNCLE SAM’S 
OUTDOOR MAGIC 


I 

LITTLE DROPS OF WATER 

B obby CULLEN emerged from the house, 
looked about him like a ground-hog in the 
spring, hoisted his school-books up under his 
arm, side-stepped a puddle in front of the 
porch, and reached the sidewalk just in time 
to fall in with Mr. Bronson, who was on his 
way to catch the eight forty-five. 

'‘Ah, Robertus,’' said he, cheerily, "how was 
the vacation?" 

Bobby's name was not Robertus, but people 
— and especially men — had a way of showing 
their liking for him by calling him all sorts of 
nicknames. 

"Punk!" said Bobby. 

"A fizzle, eh?" Mr. Bronson laughed. 

3 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


^'A drizzle, you mean. Gee! that was the 
limit!” 

'‘Well, now, do you know, when I was a kid 
we used to like a rainy day; we’d get up in 
the attic — ” 

"Yes, but I bet you didn’t like a rainy week!” 
interrupted Bobby. "Gee! I’ve been hearing 
that for ten days now — what my uncle did 
rainy days when he was a boy. It’s got on 
my nerves.” 

His companion laughed again. "We always 
used to think of rainy spells as opportunities 
for reading. We used to hit up Jules Verne. 
Ever hit up Jules Verne, Bobby?” 

"It’s about the only place you can find any 
adventures nowadays — in books,” said Bobby, 
cynically. "In those days there were stage- 
coaches and Indians and things; and fellows 
lived on farms and frontiers and places like 
that, and they didn’t have so many parents 
and uncles and things. Now all there is is 
movie shows.” 

"And rain,” added Mr. Bronson. "Look 
out for that puddle, Bobby; you should have 
worn rubbers.” 

"When it’s clear,” said Bobby, "all there is 
to do is to sit on the porch and read, and when 
it rains you stay indoors and get in people’s 
4 


LITTLE DROPS OF WATER 


way and listen to what they did when they 
were kids. That’s one good thing about fellows 
in books — usually they don’t have any parents, 
or their parents don’t care where they go — like 
Frank Nelson and the Black Ranger.” 

''Yes, I guess those youngsters didn’t have 
many restrictions.” 

"You said it,” said Bobby. 

They walked on together for a few minutes 
in silence. 

"I like fire better than water. Don’t you?” 
said Bobby, suddenly. 

"Yes, a good fire’s an interesting thing to 
see if you don’t happen to own the building 
that’s burning. But water causes great havoc 
now and then, too — there’s quite a lot of punch 
to water at times. Take a shipwreck, now.” 

"Oh, sure, out on the ocean,” said Bobby, 
as he planted his worn shoe plunk in the middle 
of another puddle;, "but I mean rain. I’ve 
got no use for rain; it hasn’t got any adventure 
in it. And it always rains in vacation. Did 
you ever notice that?” 

"So?” said Mr. Bronson. "Well, the spring 
will soon be here and then you’ll be out canoe- 
ing; that’s another good thing about water. 
You have a canoe, haven’t you, Bobby?” 

"No; never had one.” 

5 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

They parted at the corner, Mr. Bronson 
hurrying on to the station and Bobby plodding 
up the hill to school. Once Mr. Bronson turned 
and looked at the boy and smiled to himself 
as the receding figure hoisted his books higher 
under his arm and planked his gray shoe heed- 
lessly in another puddle. Somehow Bobby 
always amused him; and this morning he felt 
a certain sympathy for the boy, perhaps because 
he had been getting in people’s way all through 
that dull, disappointing vacation week; perhaps 
because, with a river fifty yards distant, he 
didn’t have a canoe. Mr. Bronson had two 
boys of his own, both of whom had canoes and 
wore rubbers when it rained. Moreover, Mr. 
Bronson did not like Bobby’s uncle, although 
he was not going to give Bobby the satisfaction 
of telling him so. 

Whatever the reason, something prompted 
him to turn about just as the boy was starting 
to pick hi§ way gingerly through the drier 
spaces of Blakely’s field. 

''Never mind, Robertus,” he called, cheerily. 
"The worst is yet to come. Cheer up!’’ 

They were prophetic words, as Bobby was to 
know before he was a day older. 

He had some reason to feel disgruntled. 
From Good Friday until this second Monday 
6 


LITTLE DROPS OF WATER 


morning it had rained incessantly straight 
through the Easter vacation, and the evidences 
of the week’s storm were now apparent on every 
hand. The crossings were transformed into 
muddy swamps, the gutters were running rivers, 
the whole atmosphere was permeated with the 
odor of the wet earth, and Blakely’s field, which 
afforded a short cut to the schoolhouse, was 
entirely submerged save for little hubbies here 
and there. 

Upon one of these were clustered several boys 
who were sailing sticks about in the surrounding 
sea. 

“Get off of that. You’ll be late to school,” 
said Bobby, as he pushed two protesting urchins 
into the water and passed on. He was in one 
of his worst moods. 

In school the teacher “rubbed it in,” as Bobby 
whispered to his nearest neighbor. She ob- 
served to the class that as it had rained during 
the whole vacation, she had no doubt the boys 
had availed themselves of the unusual oppor- 
tunity to study and were prepared with their 
lessons. She represented the rain as a sort of 
blessing which had come to the boys most 
providentially in the Easter vacation. 

“Gee ! Can you beat that?” whispered Bobby. 

“Was that Robert Cullen who spoke?” asked 
7 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


the teacher. “Stand up, Robert, and tell us the 
industries of Arizona and the chief facts con- 
cerning that State.” 

Bobby stood in the aisle, feeling the water in 
his sopping shoes, but made no response. 

“Take your book, Robert, and read the 
answer you should have learned.” 

Bobby took up his book and read: “Arizona 
has a hot, dry climate. Rains are infrequent 
and the land is parched and barren. The sage- 
brush grows profusely. The sun’s heat is in- 
tense and almost continuous. The principal 
river is the Gila, which rises in the eastern part 
of the State and, flowing westerly, empties into 
the Colorado. The capital is Phoenix. Mining 
and sheep-raising are the chief industries. Farm- 
ing is imsuccessful by reason of the lack of rain- 
fall. Me for Arizona!” added Bobby, gra- 
tuitously. 

“What is that?” asked the teacher. 

“I said, ‘Me for Arizona,’” repeated Bobby, 
recklessly. 

“Indeed!” said the teacher. “I’m sorry I 
can’t accommodate you, but I’ll do the next 
best thing and try to bring you in closer touch 
with it. You may remain after school this 
afternoon and write the first sentence of your 
geography lesson three hundred times — one hun- 
8 


LITTLE DROPS OF WATER 


dred and fifty for being unprepared and one hun- 
dred and fifty for your impertinence. Be seated.’' 

‘‘Yes’m,” said Bobby. 

He had said his little say and he was prepared 
to take his very big dose of medicine. 

At noontime he ate his two sandwiches and a 
piece of cake in the class-room because his aunt 
foimd this easier than preparing his luncheon 
at home. And all the while he wriggled and 
squirmed his foot in his soaking shoe and tried 
vainly to make it comfortable. 

When the class passed out after the afternoon 
session Bobby settled down, a lone figure in the 
middle of the big, empty room, to pay the pen- 
alty of his recklessness. 

Arizona has a hot, dry climate. 

He wrote until he had filled several sheets with 
sprawling repetitions of the awful sentence. 
Then he took them to the teacher’s desk and 
waited while she counted the sentences and 
credited him with forty-seven. Back he went 
to his desk and, resting his head wearily on his 
left hand, began again. 

Arizona has a hot, dry climate. 

His third trip to the teacher’s desk netted him a 
credit of one hundred and seventy-four sentences. 

9 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


“Do you still wish to go to Arizona?” asked 
the teacher, as she counted the sentences. 

“No’m.” 

“Did you ever read the story of the man 
without a country, Robert?” 

“No’m,” said Bobby. 

“He was an American sailor,” said Miss 
Arnold, “who cursed his country and said he 
hoped he might never see it again. So they 
took him at his word and kept him on the 
ocean, and he died without ever seeing his 
country. Suppose that when you said, 'Me 
for Arizona,’ we had taken you at your word 
and sent you away from your friends and 
parents — ” 

“My parents are dead,” said Bobby. 

“Well, then, from your uncle who takes care 
of you.” 

“I wouldn’t mind being alone,” said Bobby. 
“The only reason I wouldn’t want to go to 
Arizona is because it makes me thirsty.” 

“Makes you thirsty?” 

“Writing about the hot, dry climate so 
much.” 

He moistened his lips with his tongue, and 
Miss Arnold, looking sharply at his flushed 
face and tousled hair, seemed almost at the 
point of weakening and commuting his punish- 

lO 


LITTLE DROPS OF WATER 


ment to two hundred sentences. But Miss 
Arnold was not a quitter, and Bobby went 
back to his desk, where, after sneezing once or 
twice, he fell to again on what he considered his 
'‘baby punishment.” 

It was considerably after four o’clock when 
he laid down his blunted pencil, having written 
Arizona has a hot, dry climate for the three 
hundredth time. The dreadful words were 
beating in his brain, his head was aching, and 
he felt uncomfortable and hot and stuffy — like 
Arizona. 

"Now, if you are ready,” said Miss Arnold, 
"you may recite the lesson in geography.” 

Bobby rose, stood in the aisle, snuffled, and 
began: "Arizona has a hot, dry climate. 
Rains are infrequent and the land is parched 
and barren,” etc., etc. 

The teacher was already gathering up her 
papers and her fancy pen-wiper and her mot- 
tled glass paper-weight before he had finished. 
The session had been rather longer than she 
had expected it would be, and she had missed 
a pleasant afternoon party. 

It is a pity that Bobby could not have known 
that, for it might have afforded him some 
satisfaction. 


II 


BOBBY HAS HIS WISH 

B obby took his belated way down the hill 
toward home. He still sullenly main- 
tained his wish to be alone in the world, al- 
though he hoped never to see Arizona nor to 
hear of it again. He could not rid his mind 
of those dreadful words, the very thought of 
which seemed to stifle and suffocate him; and 
to make it worse, he was on the verge of a cold. 

The house of Bobby’s uncle was close by the 
river and separated from it only by a large 
field. It was a simple little cottage, in very 
poor repair, for Mr. Clausen had always found 
it difficult to make two ends meet — so difficult 
indeed that it seemed to Bobby as if the two 
ends were never within a mile of each other, 
and the space between filled up with debts and 
arguments and bickerings, just as several of 
the broken windows were filled up with rags. 

Mr. Clausen’s business was somewhat varied. 
He kept chickens and sold eggs; he had mush- 


12 


BOBBY HAS HIS WISH 

rooms growing in flat boxes in the cellar; he 
solicited subscriptions for a farm journal; and 
when he had nothing else to do, which was 
about two-thirds of the time, he sat in the 
kitchen and played an accordion. 

Bobby had lived with his aunt and uncle 
almost ever since he could remember. His 
father had died when he was a very little boy, 
and he remembered something of the life which 
he and his mother had spent together after- 
ward. It was a pleasant life, in which he had 
done pretty much as he pleased. Then his 
mother died and Bobby remembered being 
driven by Mr. Bronson in his buggy, over to 
Bridgeboro, where there was a river. The mem- 
ory of his mother’s death was fresh in his mind 
at the time, and curiosity about his new foster- 
parents was not lacking; but from the moment 
when his future home was determined the 
thought uppermost in his mind was that he 
was going where there was a river. But some- 
times when the floods came he had heard his 
uncle express a lazy man’s wish that he could 
move to a ‘'hot, dry climate,” and he had even 
heard him mention Arizona. 

The Clausen cottage was, indeed, as near to 
the river as any boy could wish, for it was at 
the end of one of the streets which fizzled out 
13 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC^ 

in the marshland bordering the stream. Just 
at the point where the marshland ceased to be 
marsh and became more or less dry land, stood 
the Clausen cottage. The river was about 
fifty yards distant, and the edge of the marsh 
about twenty yards ' distant. You could tell 
the Clausen cottage by the piece of brown paper 
which had replaced the glass in the kitchen 
window. There was also an ''encumbrance” 
on the cottage, and there had been a time when 
Bobby had searched diligently for this, think- 
ing that it might be some architectural feature 
or novelty, until he learned from the disputa- 
tions of his aunt and uncle that it had some- 
thing to do with money which Mr. Clausen 
ought to pay but never did pay. 

As Bobby entered the house on this particu- 
lar afternoon his aunt greeted him with her 
customary word of warning. She was like a 
signal in his path, indicating what was ahead 
of him. But his mood this afternoon was too 
sullen for her remarks to make any impression 
upon him. He was so thoroughly disgusted 
with his vacation, with the day’s experience, 
with everything in general, that he felt his fond- 
est dream would be realized if he could be 
alone in the world like the Black Ranger, or 
even in Arizona, despite its hot, dry climate, 
14 


BOBBY HAS HIS WISH 


''Where have you been, Bobby?’' she asked, 
not unkindly. "Your uncle has been looking 
for you since three o’clock. You’d better go 
right down; he’s in the cellar. Things are in 
a dreadful state. You should have been home 
two hours ago. You’ve only yourself to blame; 
you’d better go right down.” 

Heedless of this ominous hint, Bobby de- 
scended the dark, narrow stairs and presently 
became aware of a condition which he might 
have anticipated. The cellar was flooded. The 
entire lower step of the stairs was under water, 
and his uncle’s precious mushroom-boxes were 
floating about clumsily. Mr. Clausen, in shirt- 
sleeves and high rubber boots, was standing 
on a grocery box close to one of the windows, 
manipulating the dilapidated galvanized-iron 
pump which, first and last, had pumped water 
enough out of the Clausen cellar to make a 
lake. 

Bobby had never seen it like this before. 
The week of incessant rain would naturally 
have caused high tides, but the clearing, com- 
ing with the full moon, had brought the water 
clear up over the marsh; it was now coming 
into the cellar through the cold-air box of the 
furnace, and it was evident that if flood-tide 
were not already reached another hour’s rise 
15 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

would submerge the adjacent land and bring 
the water level with the sills of the cellar 
windows. 

Where’ ve you been?” demanded Mr. Clau- 
sen, pausing and turning indignantly to Bobby. 

‘‘I was kept in.” 

''Kept in till five o’clock?” 

"No. I stopped at Bronson’s; they have a 
flood there, too.” 

"What were you kept in for?” 

"For not knowing my geography and for 
saying I’d like to go to Arizona.” 

"And do you suppose I’m going to stand here 
pumping my arm off while you’re loafing up at 
Bronson’s?” 

"I didn’t know the cellar was flooded.” 

"You knew it would be.” 

"I didn’t think about it, but if I had thought 
about it I’d have plugged up the air-box open- 
ing under the porch.” 

This remark had the effect of a red flag be- 
fore a bull. Bobby, in his customary humor, 
would not have said such a thing, but his sense 
of accumulated wrong and dissatisfaction made 
him reckless of consequences, and he knew that 
his uncle would not miss the sting of this 
guarded shot. Mr. Clausen, like most lazy and 
inefficient men, was morbidly touchy on the 

i6 


BOBBY HAS HIS WISH 


point of his shiftlessness, and Bobby's refer- 
ence to a small piece of work which any in- 
telligent person living so near the river would 
naturally do in the spring, precipitated the 
climax of the wrath which had been brewing 
all the afternoon. 

^^Oh, you would, would you?" demanded 
Mr. Clausen, sneeringly. 

'‘Yes, I would," said Bobby, with sullen 
frankness. 

"And I must not only do the work that be- 
longs to you, and that any boy that has a home 
given him free and nothing said ought to be 
glad to do, but I must hear my duty told me, 
must I?" 

"I didn’t say you ought to do it; I said Td 
have done it," Bobby corrected. 

"Then why didn't you do it?" roared his 
uncle. 

"Because I didn’t think of it," said Bobby. 
For a moment he thought his uncle would 
strike him. "Do you want me to pump?" he 
asked. 

"Do you think I want you to stand there 
and watch me?" retorted his uncle, vacating 
the grocery box. "You pump now till the 
tide turns, if it ever does, and we’ll see about 
your telling me my duty — we’ll settle that 

17 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


when you’ve finished — and whether your home 
is furnished you so you can loaf up at Bron- 
son’s. Maybe you’d like to live at Bronson’s!” 
would,” said Bobby, sullenly. 

^‘Well, sir,” said his uncle, icily, ^‘when you 
get through pumping you come up-stairs and 
we’ll talk things over. If you stop pumping 
I can hear you.” 

'‘I ain’t going to stop — not till I have to.” 

''Know what’s waiting for you, hey?” 

Bobby was not afraid of what was awaiting 
him; it had awaited him too often, and his 
uncle’s vulgar inference as to why he would 
stick to his work made him indignant and 
ashamed. 

"I meant I’d stick to it as long as I could — 
because I don’t feel good. I got a cold, and I 
feel hot — and it makes me dizzy. If I got 
something coming to me I’d rather have it 
now and have it over with. I’m not scared 
of it.” 

Bobby was so honest that it stuck out all 
over him, and what his uncle called imperti- 
nence and insolence was usually simply the ex- 
pression of his downright straightforwardness. 
He had a way of speaking frankly and bluntly 
about the whippings he received which some- 
times nettled his uncle. 

i8 


BOBBY HAS HIS WISH 

Mr. Clausen stamped up the stairs into the 
kitchen, where he forbade his wife, who had 
overheard the conversation, to go down and 
interrupt the boy, even on the pretext of giving 
him a cup of coffee. 

Bobby began to pump, pump, pump, as he 
had done so many times before. The little boy 
who had come to Bridgeboro in high glee be- 
cause there was a river there had come to find 
that it meant only work for him. Most of the 
Bridgeboro boys had canoes ; their fathers were 
all members of the boat club; there were fish- 
ing and motor-boating and swimming; and 
already they were talking of the Commodore’s 
Run, which was to open the boating season 
in a week or two. Bobby could not go on this 
because his uncle had been dropped from the 
club and now denounced the club and forbade 
him to accept any of its hospitalities. 

‘'If I ever hear of your going near the boat- 
house or taking any favors from that crowd, 
ril skin you,” Mr. Clausen had said. So 
Bobby eschewed the tempting boat club, just 
as he eschewed the Scouts because young Mr. 
Sprague, the real-estate man, was Scoutmaster 
and was not on friendly terms with Mr. Clau- 
sen on account of some mortgage or other. 
Yet all these people appeared to like Bobby 
19 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


himself, which seemed strange to him, for he 
had grown up to believe that a man’s enemies 
were also his son’s enemies, and he had never 
quite overcome his surprise that Mr. Bronson 
treated him in such a spirit of comradeship, 
when all the while Mr. Clausen owed Mr. 
Bronson some money and was forever de- 
nouncing him. 

So it befell that when Bobby had a little 
time to himself, which was not often, he was 
still barred from many of the pleasures which 
the other boys enjoyed. He had come to hate 
the river, and even the springtime, for that 
season, which meant the painting of canoes, 
the overhauling of balky engines, and the hoist- 
ing of bright colors upon the boat-club cupola, 
meant only monotonous pumping for him. 
When the high tides came and the boys flocked 
down to see the larger boats launched, Bobby 
was usually in the cellar, and he would watch 
his schoolmates and companions enviously from 
the cellar windows as they went down the raised 
board-walk across the swamp to the boat- 
house. By hanging around they were pretty 
sure to -get free rides in the ‘‘try-outs.” 

As he pumped he realized that the pumping 
would continue now more or less for a couple 
of weeks. Then he would have to get out the 
20 


BOBBY HAS HIS WISH 


collection of trusty old barrel-staves and lay 
them along in the mud outside from the front 
door to the back door and from the back door 
to the woodshed. 

On this particular black Monday the water 
was higher in the cellar than he had ever be- 
fore known it to be, but undoubtedly the tide 
was near to flood and would recede before the 
level of the windows was reached. A good deal 
of water was percolatii^ig through the stone 
foundation, however, and a good deal more 
coming in through the air-box. 

As Bobby pumped his head seemed to swim, 
so dizzy was he, and he was hot and uncom- 
fortable. If he needed any proof of his theory 
that no fun was to be had with water, here it 
was in abundance, for even after the rain had 
ceased and the bright spring sunshine come at 
last, the water still bothered him and made him 
weary and discouraged. 

was right, anyway,'^ he said to himself, 
as he pumped away. '‘And that will be a good 
argument for Mr. Bronson when I see him. 
Gee! but up there it’s better — that kind of a 
flood.” 

It was rather more interesting — the flood up 
at Bronson’s — than this accumulation in the 
gloomy cellar with the mushroom-boxes float- 
21 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


ing aimlessly about. They were getting some fun 
out of it at Bronson’s, too, and it would never 
reach the house, that was sure, because the 
ditch that wound its way through the rhododen- 
dron-bushes would carry off most of the water 
before it got that far. 

There was an idea, thought Bobby, as he 
worked the long pump-handle up and down — 
there was a bully idea! His uncle had been 
talking of getting the little three-horse-power 
gasoline - engine which Warren had discarded 
from his boat and using it to pump in the 
cellar — sometime or other — if Warren would 
let him pay for it at some future time. Why 
wouldn’t it be a good idea to dig a ditch along 
the side of the house so that the water would 
flow into it and be carried off to the sewer, 
maybe, or back to the river? 

This idea, which he believed wholly original, 
struck him so forcibly that he resolved to make 
a venture upon it. He would pause for a few 
minutes’ rest, go up into the kitchen for a drink 
of water (for he was very thirsty), get his 
leather glove, for the pump-handle was blister- 
ing his hand, and tell his uncle about his idea. 

He found his aunt and uncle in the kitchen. 
Mr. Clausen was sitting with his feet in the 
oven, and it was evident to Bobby that his aunt 
22 


BOBBY HAS HIS WISH 


had been championing him, and that his uncle 
was in a very disagreeable mood. 

'‘I got an idea,’' said Bobby. *Ht ain’t what 
I came up for — I came up to get a drink and to 
give my hand a rest for a minute.” 

‘‘Does your head ache, Robby?” asked his 
aunt, looking at his flushed face. 

“It don’t exactly ache, but I was thinking 
if sometime I dug a ditch along outside the 
house like the Scouts have when they go camp- 
ing — that’s one thing that put it in my head — 
Roy Blakely told me about how they dig drain- 
ditches to keep the water from getting into the 
tents, and up at Bronson’s — ” 

“Have you pumped all that water out?” 
asked Mr. Clausen, in ominous disregard of 
Bobby’s great idea. 

“Let him tell us,” urged his aunt, weakly. 
“Yes, Robby?” 

It was characteristic of Bobby that his sul- 
lenness should have all but vanished in the 
light of his sudden inspiration, and that he 
should have forgotten even the threatened 
punishment in his generous anxiety to lay his 
idea before his uncle. And now, as he stood, 
with his enthusiasm somewhat dashed by Mr. 
Clausen’s icy tone, his sopping trousers clinging 
to his legs, plainly sick, and embarra,ssed at the 
n 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


unexpected turn of affairs, he was a pitiable 
figure. He was quick to take the little grain 
of encouragement his aunt offered, and he 
smiled at her and began again, 
was—” 

‘^Have you finished pumping?” interrupted 
Mr. Clausen, coldly. 

N-no, I haven’t — I just — I’m going down 
again — ” 

Mr. Clausen withdrew his feet slowly from 
the oven, pushed his chair back, arose leisurely, 
and said, ^'Go up-stairs.” 

^'Let him tell us,” urged Mrs. Clausen. 

“Go up-stairs,” Mr. Clausen repeated, ignor- 
ing her. 

Mrs. Clausen had learned from bitter experi- 
ence not to cross her husband. More than once 
she had flared up, only to find that her protests 
made Bobby’s lot all the harder. 

“I’d — I’d — rather have it now, an3rway,” 
he said to her, “because then I can pump with- 
out having to think about it — and, anyway, it 
gives me a rest — kind of.” 

He went manfully up the stairs, his uncle fol- 
lowing silently, and left his aunt wringing her 
hands and crying in the kitchen. 

The little “rest” was soon over. Bobby 
came down the stairs drawing quick, spasmodic 
24 


BOBBY HAS HIS WISH 


breaths, and descended into the cellar. Mr. 
Clausen walked grimly over to the kitchen cup- 
board and stood something in a corner within 
it. Presently the rattling of the loose old piimp- 
handle could be heard again. 

When it was nearly dark Bobby pushed up 
the slanting bulkhead doors and stole quietly 
out to look about him. Evidently no one was 
in the kitchen. His head was aching cruelly, his 
hand was blistered, his arm stiff and weary, and a 
sense of humiliation was upon him, not from the 
thought of anything wrong that he had done, but 
because he had been the victim of a whipping and 
he hated to face his aunt and uncle afterward. 
He always felt that way; he did not know why. 

Moreover, he was conscious of another feel- 
ing which he had not known so much as a little 
boy. His uncle's continual reference to his de- 
pendence, to the fact that he was ‘‘given a 
home," were beginning to sting him and, to- 
gether with the frequent punishments, had be- 
gun to touch his pride. He was more stoical 
about the whippings than he used to be, but 
they left him with a sense of shame which he 
could not overcome. 

And now, as he stepped wearily out into the 
waning light, all the disappointment and sense 
of wrong of that trying week, that long-antici- 
25 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


pated Easter vacation, descended upon him. 
He had done nothing so very wrong, but he had 
had endless trouble. 

''Cracky, but that hurts!” said he, shaking 
his blistered hand. "There’s some kind of 
stuff — some kind of ointment — the Scouts use. 
I wish I knew what it was.” 

As he looked about him he realized that he 
had never before seen such a tide. A little way 
down-stream toward the boat club the whole 
field was flooded, and the willow-trees on the 
club-house lawn seemed to be growing out of the 
water. Bobby noticed that the floats were 
higher than the boat-house porch, so that the 
gangways slanted up to them rather than down. 
The rectangular "slip” in which the launches 
floated in their outriggers was entirely ob- 
literated, and the water, encroaching up as far 
as the tennis-courts, was lapping against the 
blocks under the boats which were not yet 
launched. The gangway which extended across 
the marsh from the boat-house up to River 
Street looked like a floating pontoon, the water 
so high beneath it that its supporting timbers 
were not visible. If the water kept on rising 
for another half-hour, Bobby thought, the boat- 
house would be cut off from approach except 
by rowboat. 


26 


BOBBY HAS HIS WISH 


Along this walk, which now formed the sole 
connecting link between the boat-house and the 
town, a group of club members, with the usual 
trailing accompaniment of boys, was wending 
its way homeward. They were evidently tak- 
ing the high tide as a matter of course, though 
never before had any of them got their feet wet 
walking on the wooden gangway. 

Bobby, looking from the open bulkhead of 
the cellar, could hear their laughter as they 
passed along. There was Tom Van Arlen, 
with two boys after him, carrying gasoline-cans. 
There were Wood and Blakely laboring under 
an inverted canoe, their heads buried in its 
interior. There was Warren, with a long boat- 
hook and a can, probably a paint-can, on the 
end of it, trudging along like a peddler with his 
pack. As Bobby looked some one in the rear 
stooped and, rising, threw a saturated bailing- 
sponge at one of the boys ahead. Bobby could 
hear them laughing as they passed out of sight. 

Something, he did not know what, made his 
eyes fill. Perhaps it was just because he was 
unhappy and disappointed and not feeling 
good, but it was odd that this boy who could 
be as stoical as an Indian under -physical pain 
often fotmd himself crying for some reason 
which he could not explain. 

3 27 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

In any event, as he looked at the colors on 
the boat-house cupola, the emblem seemed be- 
spangled, because his eyes were full of tears, 
and he saw something else, too, which made 
him rub his eyes with his sleeve to get a clearer 
look. 

A little apart from the other boats and closer 
to the slip stood Mr. Wentworth’s big cruising 
launch. Only the upper part of its blocking 
could be seen, for the land on which it stood 
was quite submerged, and as Bobby looked at 
it the bow, which faced him, seemed to wabble 
a little. 

He blinked his eyes and wiped them with his 
sleeve again and looked hard and long. Sure 
enough, it was no trick of imagination — Went- 
worth’s boat was, not exactly moving, but just 
staggering a little in its blocks. It was still con- 
fined, but it was floating. 

It would be hard to say just what prompted 
Bobby to start across that flooded marsh tow- 
ard Wentworth’s boat. His first thought was 
to find the anchor, if he could, and cast it into 
the submerged land to prevent the boat from 
drifting away. But I suspect, too, that he was 
glad of an excuse to get away from the house 
and to be by himself, whatever the conse- 
quences. His mood was reckless and perhaps 
28 


BOBBY HAS HIS WISH 


this heedless errand offered him the chance he 
wanted. Perhaps he was curious to see the 
inside of that wonderful launch, though, good- 
ness knows, he might have had a hundred 
rides in it if it hadn’t been for his uncle. For 
Mr. Wentworth called Bobby ^‘Bobboriums,” 
and was in the habit of plucking the boy’s hat 
from his tously head and handing it to him 
politely when he met him, which was a sign 
that he liked him immensely. 


Ill 


WENTWORTH’S BOAT 

ANYWAY, it was the beginning of Bobby’s 
l \ adventures. He stole cautiously through 
his aunt’s little kitchen garden, around behind 
the woodshed, and went plodding ankle-deep 
across the edge of the marsh, heading for the 
point where the board-walk terminated at River 
Street. 

By a circuitous route he could reach this end 
of the long plank-walk and, traversing it, could 
come to a point within twenty feet of Went- 
worth’s boat. 

Reaching the point on the board-walk near- 
est to Wentworth’s boat, he put his foot cau- 
tiously from the flooring to see how deep the 
water was, and found that it wais above his 
knees. He rolled his trousers up, removed his 
shoes — ^though they could scarce have been 
wetter than they already were — waded through 
the intervening space to the boat, and, grab- 
bing the combing, vaulted up to the deck and 
30 


WENTWORTH’S BOAT 


let himself down into the cockpit. Went- 
worth’s boat rocked perceptibly as he did so. 

He found himself in an enchanted spot. He 
had often wondered what the inside of those 
cruising launches looked like, and now he could 
satisfy his curiosity undisturbed. He slid back 
the roof-hatch, rolled open the door, and en- 
tered the tiny cabin. 

Mr. Wentworth had been beforehand with 
his spring preparations, and the launch was not 
only freshly painted, but lately stocked as well, 
for there were canned goods in abundance 
which had not yet been put in the lockers; 
there was a complete set of aluminum cooking- 
utensils strewn on one of the seats; there was 
a tent rolled up and all sorts of provisions and 
camping paraphernalia. The cabin was very 
inviting with its chintz curtains at the port- 
holes, its cushioned locker seats, and the little 
oil-stove in the corner. 

Bobby could feel the boat rocking and knock- 
ing against its side supports occasionally, and 
he knew that if he was to moor it no time was 
to be lost. It was almost dark, but, groping 
about in the seat lockers, he found a folding 
anchor with plenty of rope coiled about it. 
He opened the anchor and locked it, then, 
climbing over the cabin to the little space of 
31 


UNCLE SAM^S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

forward deck, he plunged it into the water, 
letting out ten or twelve feet of rope, in case 
the tide should still rise a little, which he thought 
most unlikely. 

Then he returned to the cabin, for, although 
his errand was accomplished, he was' in no hurry 
to go home. He knew his uncle would make 
him continue the futile work of pumping, and 
he felt that he could pump no more that day. 
Here, in this cozy cabin his fond wish to be all 
alone in the world was, for the time being, 
realized. He saw the lights appearing in the 
Bridgeboro houses, and he could distinguish 
the one in his uncle’s kitchen. He thoroughly 
enjoyed the sensation of being alone here in this 
little home, surrounded by water, with no one 
to bother him and remind him that he lived on 
charity. Even the lonely glory of the Black 
Ranger could not compare with this! 

He looked for matches, but could find none, 
although the usual riding-lights and a hand- 
lantern were in the cabin and filled with oil. 
He lifted a canvas tarpaulin and there was the 
engine. The fresh aluminum paint on its 
cylinders and fly-wheel shone in the gather- 
ing darkness. He did not know whether the 
motor had been overhauled and put in adjust- 
ment, but he had not lingered hours in Bradley’s 
32 


WENTWORTH’S BOAT 

garage to no purpose, and he turned on the 
gas, closed the switch, gave, the wheel a few 
swings and threw it over. There was no 
‘"kick,” but the buzzing of the coil told him 
that the batteries were alive and that the igni- 
tion apparatus was in order. 

Bobby knew perfectly well that he had no 
right to take these liberties with another per- 
son’s boat, but his mood was still reckless and 
he quieted whatever misgivings he had with 
the thought that if it had not been for him 
Mr. Wentworth’s boat might have been lifted 
out of its supports and floated away altogether. 

He brought the wheel slowly up to com- 
pression and heard the buzzing again. Turn- 
ing off the switch, he removed the wire from 
one of the plugs, opened the hand-lantern and 
laid the wick against the plug. Then he 
closed the switch and began rubbing the end 
of the wire against the plug so that it touched 
the wick as it passed. Presently his lantern 
was burning cheerily and casting a pleasant 
glow about the little cabin. That was some- 
thing that even Robinson Crusoe couldn’t have 
done. 

Bobby would not have undertaken to run 
any boat, but, seeing that there was a clutch, 
he saw no reason why he should not start the 
33 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


engine and get a little warmth. So he hauled 
the clutch over to neutral, turned the wheel 
over, and, sure enough, after two or three 
turns, he got an explosion and she chugged 
merrily away, running like a dream. 

Pretty soon the muffler was hot, and he re- 
moved his shoes and socks and laid them on it. 
It was warm and pleasant in the little cabin, 
the rocking of the boat and the sense of remote- 
ness pleased him, and it was easy enough to 
forget that the launch would pretty soon settle 
prosily down again, and that he could walk 
back across the board-walk and so home. 

He lay down on the cushioned locker seat to 
rest and pulled the tarpaulin over him. 

‘‘Gee! this is great!” he said. 

The next thing Bobby knew he was awakened 
suddenly by a loud crash and a jar which threw 
him clear off the locker seat and upset and ex- 
tinguished the lantern. As he scrambled up 
and groped aimlessly in his half-sleep, another 
jar knocked him off his feet and he stumbled 
over the engine. The wheel was still and the 
cylinders cold. It was as dark as pitch outside, 
and within his feet encountered something at 
every move he made. 

At first he thought he had been dreaming 
34 


WENTWORTH’S BOAT 


and was just trying to get his bearings and 
remember where he was when there came a 
great sound of ripping and tearing; he was 
conscious of being swung around, and the next 
thing he knew he was wallowing amid all sorts 
of things on the floor of the cabin. 

Then he realized that he was wide awake 
and in Wentworth’s boat. The launch was 
lunging this way and that, for all the world 
like a balky horse straining at its bridle; then, 
suddenly, there was more crashing near at hand 
and the boat seemed to find sudden release as 
he heard the sound of tearing very near to him. 

Not daring to venture out into the cockpit, 
he opened the forward port and felt about the 
deck to see if the anchor rope was fast on its 
cleat; but the whole cleat — as nearly as he 
could make out — ^had been wrenched away and 
there was no sign of rope. A few yards away 
he could see a long, shadowy object moving 
heavily, and just at that minute a realization 
came to him of what had happened. If the 
long, shadowy object was the wrecked board- 
walk, then Wentworth’s boat had somehow 
gotten past it, the anchor had caught in it, 
halted the rushing boat and pulled it around, 
tearing the cleat away. Even as Bobby strained 
his eyes trying to distinguish the long, swaying 
35 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


mass, the boat rushed away from it, knocked 
against a great solid structure close by, and 
went driving on in its mad career. 

He could see the lights of Bridgeboro, and as 
he looked many of them were extinguished, one 
after another and in groups. It seemed odd 
that all the people of the town should be going 
to bed at the same time. 

Then he heard voices, thin and spent by the 
distance, but crystal-clear across the water, and 
in strange contrast to the pandemonium about 
him. The voices sounded uncanny in the dark- 
ness, and the distance seemed to rob them of 
excitement. Bobby distinctly heard some one 
far off §ay, “Can we make the hill?” 

The lights grew dimmer and fewer, the 
voices hardly distinguishable, and suddenly the 
boat struck something with a terrific impact and 
stood plunging and rocking like a mad thing; 
then there was a sound of scraping beneath him, 
the bow went up, Bobby was precipitated 
against the after bulkhead; for a few minutes 
the boat seemed to be on a pivot, then water 
came rushing into the cockpit and cabin, again 
she seemed to extricate herself, and there was 
the sense of freedom and of rushing madly on- 
ward. 

Once the launch rushed past a building which 
36 


WENTWORTH’S BOAT 


was canted over with its roof no higher than 
the boat’s cabin, and which was bobbing and 
lurching. Voices came from it, and some one 
cried, '‘The bridge, it was the bridge!” 

A little farther on a frantic voice called, 
very near as it seemed, for some one to throw 
a rope. Afterward Bobby thought the man had 
tried to hail him; but his dismay and fright 
prevented him from answering. 

Getting a light from the ignition spark was 
out of the question amid the lunging and tu- 
mult, and Bobby could only cling to whatever 
stationary thing offered and wait, breathless 
and panic-stricken, for the next crash. 

Presently the boat seemed to move more 
tranquilly, though still at a rapid rate, and 
then, at last, there was a sensation of dragging, 
the hull canted over the least bit and the mad 
race was over — Wentworth’s boat stood still. 

For a few minutes Bobby waited, his nerves 
on edge, for another wild rush or another deaf- 
ening crash, but as none came he gathered his 
wits, stumbled across the flooded cabin floor, 
and clambered upon the locker, where he sat, 
still fearing that something more might happen. 

But nothing more did happen. Wentworth 
had always boasted that his boat would stand 
up against pretty nearly anything, and he came 
37 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


within half an inch of being right. But if she 
was not a physical wreck as a consequence of 
her frantic race, she seemed to be suffering the 
sequel in a complete nervous collapse, for she 
kept settling and canting more and more, as 
if with utter exhaustion, until the locker on 
which Bobby sat inclined so much that he slid 
from it and sought the one on the opposite 
side. This was so much lower than the other 
that for a moment he thought the boat was 
sinking and that presently the water would 
come through the port-hole. When a few 
minutes more elapsed and it did not, he threw 
the port open and reached down outside. The 
first thing his hand encountered was some 
marsh grass, which he pulled up. 

“Jiminy crinks!” said he, clutching it with 
a feeling of relief. '‘This is some adventure, 
believe me. I — I had a ride in Wentworth’s 
boat, anyway.” 

That one little handful of marsh grass made 
him regard the whole experience simply as an 
adventure. 


IV 


THE SCOUT LAW 

W HEN the day broke Bobby went out into 
the cockpit and looked about him. The 
boat stood careened in the midst of a large area 
of marshland. Several hundred yards distant 
the swollen river flowed briskly, but not a 
familiar sign in all the country round about 
could Bobby see. 

He looked up the river for the railroad bridge, 
but no bridge was to be seen. He had certainly 
not been carried up the river, for there was no 
marshland above Bridgeboro, and how could a 
rising tide have carried him down? He had no 
doubt that the tide, phenomenal in its volume, 
was responsible for this. It had carried him 
several hundred yards farther ashore than the 
highest tide known and had left him marooned 
— marooned as completely as ever pirate ma- 
rooned a hapless captive, and Robinson Crusoe 
on his desert island was hardly more alone than 
Bobby seemed now. 


39 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


He had regarded such things as this as being 
part and parcel of story-books only, but here 
he was, and how to make his whereabouts known 
was a puzzle. 

He looked about him again. Par up the 
river was a steeple which he thought might be 
in Bridgeboro, but if so the boat-house cupola 
should have been near it, and there was no boat- 
house cupola to be seen. You could always 
pick out the higher buildings in Bridgeboro all 
the way down to Ferrytown, but he could dis- 
tinguish none of them now, though he thought 
he recognized some of the familiar residences in 
the fashionable hill section. But if that were 
Bridgeboro, where was the rest of it? 

He opened the sea-cock and let out the water 
which had washed into the boat. Then he 
opened a can of salmon and, spreading it on 
some crackers, made such a breakfast as he 
could. The morning was chilly, so he started the 
engine and dried out his clothing and then he tried 
to tidy up the little cabin. He was feeling better 
than he had the previous evening, and he was 
not greatly concerned about his predicament. 
He could probably make himself heard in some 
way when he really wished to do so, and, having 
eaten, and dried his clothing, he settled himself 
to see what the day would bring forth. 

40 


THE SCOUT LAW 


After a while boats began to pass on the 
river, some of them going slowly along close to 
shore, as if in search of something. 

It was getting on toward afternoon, and 
Bobby was beginning to think that he had better 
raise his voice to summon help unless he wished 
to prolong his adventure through another night 
(a plan which he had seriously considered) 
when he noticed a rowboat pushing up through 
the rushes toward him. Sometimes it was 
quite hidden among the reeds, then it would 
become visible again, and after a while it 
reached the area of shorter growths and he 
could see that its progress was becoming very 
difficult. 

Presently it became necessary to ship the 
oars altogether and pole the boat, and after 
what seemed an interminable season of tedious 
and arm-racking work it was near enough for 
Bobby to recognize it as a fiat-bottomed punt 
containing Mr. Wentworth and one of the 
Bronson boys. 

''Hello, Will!’' called Bobby. "Where am I 
at, anyway? Where did you come from? Pm 
marooned." 

"Hello, Bob!" called Mr. Wentworth. "Have 
a good ride?" His tone was pleasant, but 
sober, too, and, although he did not seem to be 
41 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


angry, Bobby somehow had a feeling that some- 
thing was wrong. "‘You’re a hundred miles 
from nowhere,” said Mr. Wentworth, as they 
pushed the boat over the submerged land and 
came alongside. 

“I — I went down to try and anchor your 
boat,” said Bobby, “because I thought it was 
going to float away, and I fell asleep in it. I 
wasn’t going to touch the salmon and things, 
but I had to this morning because I got hungry.” 

“That’s all right. Bob,” said Mr. Wentworth. 
“You’re welcome to the stuff. Old battle-ship 
behaved pretty well, hey?” 

“Oh, she’s a peacherino!” said Bobby, with 
genuine enthusiasm. “You said it!” 

‘ ‘ All right. Love me, love my boat ; that’s the 
kind of a fellow I am. She’s all I’ve got left. 
Bob. Guess I’ll have to camp in her.” 

“Is Bridgeboro up there?” asked Bobby, 
pointing. “I’m all balled up. What hap- 
pened, anyway?” 

“Dam up at Milton busted,” said Will Bron- 
son. 

“Get in. Bob,” said Mr. Wentworth. “We’ll 
leave her here till to-morrow.” 

As they poled slowly back through the tall 
grass Bobby told his story. 

“I had a ride in her, anyway,” he said in con- 
42 


THE SCOUT LAW 


elusion, ^*and that’s what I’ve always wanted. 
Gee! she’s a pippin! I guess my uncle will 
be mad, all right, but, anyway, I had the ride. 
Even if he licks me I won’t mind, because I’ve 
had the ride.” 

Will Bronson looked significantly at Mr. 
Wentworth, and Mr. Wentworth frowned at 
him slightly. 

'‘He won’t lick you. Bob,” said he. 

When they had come into the river Bobby 
began to see strange sights. There was a house 
canted over right in the middle of the stream, 
its windows broken and its roof fallen in. The 
railroad bridge was a mass of tangled iron and 
broken wood. As they rowed up-stream he could 
see the shores and adjacent land strewn with 
all sorts of wreckage. 

The first familiar object they reached was 
the boat-house. It was an utter ruin, its porch 
and understructure quite gone, and it lay side- 
ways, toppled over like a box. 

They made a landing near by and started up 
through the devastated town, and then the full 
realization of what had happened came to 
Bobby. This very part of town where he had 
lived was scarcely recognizable, and he trudged 
along with his two companions, bewildered and 
dismayed, but saying very little. 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


‘'You see, Bob,” Mr. Wentworth said, “the 
old dam up at Milton gave way. The flood hit 
us at about two this morning. There are only a 
few of us left. Bob.” This was by way of break- 
ing it gently to Bobby, and he began to imder- 
stand. 

“That — isn’t that where my house was?” 
asked he. 

“’Bout there. See that shed? That was 
brought all the way down from Milton and cast 
up here. Let’s cut across here. You recog- 
nize this. Bob? This used to be River Street.” 

They started to pick their way across a 
mushy area on a crazy sidewalk, some of its 
flagstones standing almost on end, and on either 
hand were half-recognizable buildings and piles 
of debris. Outside of one house was a pile of 
window-shutters, and there were people crowd- 
ing into the doorway, while a man tried vainly 
to form them in line. Two men came silently 
toward the house, carrying a shutter with some- 
thing on it. The people made way for them 
to pass within. 

“Is — ^is my aunt and uncle — ” Bobby began. 

“There are a lot of folks missing. Bob. They 
may have made the hill; there’s no telling. 
You’ll just have to wait.” 

“You’re coming up to our house, Bob,” said 
44 


THE SCOUT LAW 


Will Bronson. '‘My mother said if we found 
you to bring you; but, jiminy! we had no idea 
you were in that boat. You had a narrow 
escape. What do you say we paddle up to 
Milton to-morrow and take a pike around? 
I’ll show you how to paddle. There’s no 
school for a while, anyway.” 

But Bobby was too shocked to answer. He 
had often wished that he were all alone in the 
world, and only the night before he had given 
way to that feeling; but now when it seemed 
likely that his wish was fulfilled he felt strangely 
dismayed. It seemed hardly possible that only 
yesterday he had pumped out the cellar in a 
house which was no more, and that he might 
never hear his uncle’s grim voice again. 

They passed up Main Street, where nearly 
all of the buildings were standing, but the 
store-fronts were mostly in ruins and all sorts 
of merchandise was strewn about the streets. 
Hardly a ground-floor window was intact; but 
the big Methodist church, apparently un- 
damaged, reared its towering height above its 
neighbors and was being used as a refuge for 
the injured and homeless. 

"And what do you think, Bob?” said Will 
Bronson. "Our old shanty hasn’t got a broken 
window even. There are only nineteen houses 
45 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

in the lower town that aren’t damaged; Roy 
Blakely and I counted them; and we named our 
house Old Gibraltar. Isn’t that a peachy 
name?” 

It was a pretty good name, for there in the 
middle of its beautiful private park, stretching 
right down to the river, stood the big rubble- 
stone house just as it had stood before, except 
that meadow grass was plastered here and there 
upon its walls, and a clean line upon its face 
indicated how high the water had come. 

Mr. Wentworth left them at the gate, and 
the two boys made their way up the winding 
gravel walk through the garden, where the 
bushes looked as if a whole herd of cattle had 
trampled them down, and the walk itself re- 
minded Bobby for all the world of a piece of 
cloth in which the colors had run, the gravel 
being distributed thinly here and there beyond 
the border line, widening the walk several yards 
or so. 

It was on that first evening after the dread- 
ful catastrophe that Bobby Cullen had the talk 
with Mr. Bronson which was destined so deeply 
to affect his future life. He had submitted to 
the kindly ministrations of Mrs. Bronson, had 
taken medicine for his neglected cold, had been 
furnished with a change of clothing, and was 
46 


THE SCOUT LAW 

about to join the Bronson boys after supper in 
another excursion about the ruined town, when 
Mr. Bronson called him into the library. 

^^Sit down in that big chair, Robertus,’' said 
he. want to have a little chat with you.'' 

Mr. Bronson seated himself in one of the big 
leather chairs, stretched out his legs, lighted a 
cigar, and looked up at the ceiling quite as if 
he and Bobby were old chums settling down 
for a talk about old times. It put Bobby very 
much at his ease, for, though he was not in the 
least afraid of Mr. Bronson, he had been some- 
what uncomfortable in the palatial residence. 
He seated himself in one of the big chairs and 
waited. 

'‘Well, Bob," said Mr. Bronson, soberly, 
"you see there's quite a lot of possibility in 
water after all, isn't there — even adventure. 
I think you were speaking about adventure. 
Water can do a lot of damage when there's 
criminal negligence back of it." 

"Is somebody to blame for all this?" asked 
Bobby. 

"Yes, the water company's to blame. We'll 
know more about it when the engineers have 
looked things over. The State engineers will 
be up to-morrow. But they can't give back 
the lives that are lost. Bob." 

47 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


'‘No, sir,” said Bobby, after a moment’s 
silence. 

"Well, now, Bobby, this is what I want to 
say, and I want to say it before you go out 
into what’s left of the poor old town. You’re 
going to stay right here, my boy, at least until 
we can look around us and see what it’s best 
to do. And you must feel that this is your 
home. Mrs. Bronson wants you to do that; 
but we haven’t anything to say, anyway, for 
the boys run this place.” 

Bobby was biting his lip hard and trying to 
keep from crying. It may have been the re- 
minder that he was left an orphan for the 
second time, or it may have been just that he 
was not in the habit of being talked to in this 
way. He could only say, "Yes, sir.” 

"I’m very much afraid your aunt and uncle 
are lost, my boy, and you’ve got to be brave 
and think about it that way. And there’s 
something else. You know. Bob, I knew your 
uncle long before you did.” 

"He didn’t know you as well as I did,” said 
Bobby, "else he wouldn’t — ” 

"Never mind that, my boy. Now, when 
you go around town you may hear things said 
about your uncle. You mustn’t let it make 
you feel bad, Bob. See? People don’t always 
48 


THE SCOUT LAW 


stop to think what they're saying. You mustn't 
listen to them. If the men in the stores or any 
of the boys say things, you just walk away. 
You have to think of your uncle as if he were 
your father, Bob, and you must be loyal to his 
memory." 

Bobby was intertwining his fingers nervously. 
It was almost at that same time the day before 
that he had been whipped for taking the time 
to make a suggestion. Oh, how clearly the whole 
episode arose before him now. 

"Once — once I read something about 'My 
country, may she always be right, but my 
country right or wrong.' Is it — is it something 
like that — you mean?" 

Mr. Bronson tightened his lips. "Some- 
thing like that, yes. Bob." 

"And the Scouts, one of their laws says a 
fellow has got to be loyal. He's got to be loyal 
to his Scoutmaster and his home and his parents 
— especially his parents. He's got to be loyal 
to them, no matter what. My uncle wouldn't 
let me join the Scouts because he didn't like 
Mr. Sprague. And if he didn't like me, either, 
maybe he couldn't help it." 

"Well, it's a good law. Bob." 

' ‘ They've got some good laws, the Scouts ; but I 
never thought about that one before, ' ' said Bobby. 

49 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


'‘Maybe you won’t hear anything at all, my 
boy, but your uncle had business affairs which 
caused disputes, and people might talk about 
things they’re not familiar with. Just you 
walk away and say to yourself, ‘He was my 
uncle and I’ll be loyal and remember he gave 
me a home and brought me up.’ ” 

“Sometimes it made me feel like — kind of 
like wishing I was all alone when he told me 
that.’’ 

“He used to tell you that?’’ 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Hummm!” 

“But I know what you mean — I got to be 
loyal.” 

There was another pause during which Mr. 
Bronson smoked in silence. 

“Yes, just the same as you must be loyal 
to your employer,” he added, softly. “You 
might feel that he wasn’t fair to you, or perhaps 
not paying you enough money, but as long as 
he is your employer you must be loyal to him 
— that’s the idea.” 

“If you couldn’t be loyal to both — to your 
parents and your employer — then what would 
you do?” Bobby asked. 

Mr. Bronson smiled. “That wouldn’t be 
likely to happen, Bob. Just you make up your 
so 


THE SCOUT LAW 


mind to be loyal and, most important of all, 
don’t let anything you hear make you feel bad. 
See?” 

'‘Even if I did feel bad I could keep it to 
myself and no one would know. That’s one 
thing I can do, anyway — I always could. But 
— but I like to talk to you.” 

Mr. Bronson looked at the boy as he sat in 
the big chair, and noticed that his eyes were 
brimming over. 

"That’s all right. Bob. If there’s ever any- 
thing you want to talk over, just come to me. 
That’s the way Will and Dory do.” 

"Sometimes I have ideas,” said Bobby. 

"Well, they’re bully things to have,” Mr. 
Bronson encouraged. 

"And if somebody tells you it’s a good idea 
that helps you to improve it, don’t you think so?” 

"Surest thing you know. Bob.” As they rose 
to leave the room Mr. Bronson laid his hand 
over the boy’s shoulder. "You must learn to 
swim. Bob,” said he, "and don’t puzzle your 
brains too much.” 

"My uncle wasn’t so bad as the water com- 
pany, anyway, was he?” 

"No, indeed!” said Mr. Bronson. "Well, 
good night. Bob, and keep the boys out of mis- 
chief, won’t you?” 

51 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


But still Bobby lingered. '‘He gave me a 
quarter once,” said he. 

Mr. Bronson almost winced. "Yes?” he 
said. "Well, that’s good.” 

He did not altogether understand Bobby, 
but he had understood Bobby’s uncle well 
enough, and defending him was about the hard- 
est job he had ever tackled. 


V 


SOME JOLLIERS 

B obby did hear things about his uncle, 
for he couldn’t help hearing them. People 
spoke kindly of his aunt and toward him they 
seemed even more pleasantly disposed than 
ever before; but for his uncle they had no word 
of praise or of regret. 

Some spoke half-contemptuously of him as 
of a ne’er-do-well, making allowance for his in- 
efficiency, while others hinted at matters he 
had been concerned in before Bobby’s time, 
and these made the boy uncomfortable and left 
him curious. 

But all such talk aroused his indignation. 
He heard hints about some funds belonging to 
the fire company, of which Rafe Clausen had 
once been treasurer, and about some money 
which he hadn’t turned over to the people who 
published the farm journal. Sometimes he 
heard Rafe’s treatment of himself criticized — 
for every one seemed to know about it — and 
53 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


once in Bradley’s garage, which was the most 
enticing spot in the world to Bobby, he forgot 
Mr. Bronson’s advice and indignantly cited 
the memorable occasion when his uncle had 
given him a quarter. 

'‘That’s all right. Bob,” they had said, but 
Bobby never entered Bradley’s garage again. 
The one quarter that his uncle had given him, 
three years back, was his sole answer to these 
aspersions, and he now treasured the memory 
of it as he had once treasured the quarter itself. 

What he could never understand was that 
the people who were strongest in their dislike 
of his uncle were the very ones who seemed to 
like him most. 

The days passed and Bridgeboro began to 
build itself up anew. For some days Bobby 
worked with the Scouts, who were organized 
for rescue work and had their tents near the 
Army headquarters, for Uncle Sam was lend- 
ing a helping hand to the stricken towns along 
the river and was making his headquarters in 
Bridgeboro. 

The tents with their telephones and complete 
equipment and the Stars and Stripes floating 
over them, the comings and goings of the 
officers, the privates on guard at the two banks 
and outside the wrecked buildings, and the Red 
54 


SOME JOLLIERS 

Cross workers going about their work among 
the homeless and injured, formed a war-time 
picture to Bobby, and he seemed, after all, to 
be living in a world of adventure. 

He had, too, a glimpse of Scout efficiency, 
and was proud to become a '‘tenderfoot’' and 
take his oath to obey the good law which he 
had cited to Mr. Bronson, and which he had 
already obeyed with stubborn loyalty. 

He was a universal favorite with all of Uncle 
Sam’s company, from the officers down, and 
liked them one and all; but he had no use for 
the engineers who had descended upon the 
neighborhood like a pest and who gave learned 
opinions on the cause of the catastrophe. Some 
of them were summoned by the Milton Water 
Company, and these said that the “unprece- 
dented freshets” were responsible for the disas- 
ter and that it could not have been prevented. 
People said they were paid for saying so. * 

These men were in no sense connected with 
Uncle Sam, but their presence in the town was 
due to the catastrophe, and their suit-cases 
were carried to and from the makeshift hotel 
by the willing Scouts, whose watchword is 
“Service.” 

“Cracky! I’ve got no use for engineers,” 
Bobby volunteered one evening, as he and half 
55 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


a dozen others sat in the Scout tent after a day 
of distributing provisions in town and up the 
river. '‘They call them civil engineers; but, 
gee! I don’t call that last one civil.” 

"Civil don’t mean polite, you gump,” said 
Dory Bronson. "It means — sort of — not mili- 
tary.” 

"I don’t care what it means,” said Bobby; 
"they’re all the time talking about collateral 
resistance and things like that — they get on 
my nerves.” 

"You mean lateral resistance,” said Roy 
Blakely; "if you jump on a board and it don’t 
bust with you, that’s lateral resistance.” 

"You get E plus,” said Will Bronson. 

"I asked one of them what convergent pres- 
sure meant,” said Bobby, "and he went right 
on talking to Mr. Wallace. I bet he didn’t 
know himself.” 

"Was that the one with the long black coat 
and the scowl — looked like a minister, sort of?” 

"Yes,” said Bobby. "He said there’s too 
much fiction. But if we all read histories, I 
don’t see how that would prevent a flood.” 

"You’re crazy,” said Westy; "he setid fric- 
tion,^ ^ 

"Well, anyway, he’s an old grouch,” said 
Bobby. 


56 


SOME JOLLIERS 

^‘Men that are all the time figuring, they 
get kind of crusty,” Roy added. 

^‘Colonel Wade, he used to fight the Indians 
out West,” said Bobby. ''He was telling us 
about it last night. That’s the kind of life! 
That’s one good thing about the old times — 
the massacres. These engineers, you can’t un- 
derstand what they’re talking about. You can 
bet your life if there’s any more of them to be 
rowed around the river Em not going to do it. 
They kind of remind you of professors. I held 
a tape for one of them — the one with the 
whiskers — and, gee, I was scared of him! I like 
the Army men best.” 

"Construction engineers aren’t so bad,” said 
Roy. 

"They’re all the same,” said Bobby, dis- 
gustedly. 

"There’s different kinds of civil engineers,” 
said Roy; "some of them aren’t so terribly 
civil.” 

"They are all the same,” said Bobby. "I’ve 
got no use for any of them.” 

At this point Colonel Wade’s aide appeared 
in the open doorway of the tent. "Which one 
of you boys will chug up to Milton in the launch 
to-morrow and bring down a gentleman — an 
engineer? He’s going to leave the train at 
57 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


Milton and come down the river so he can look 
things over.” 

A dead silence prevailed for a moment. 

” Bobby Cullen’s the one for that,” shouted 
Roy. ” There’s your chance, Bob.” 

”He loves engineers,” said Westy. 

”Sure, he loves them like a rainy day,” added 
Dory. 

'‘Engineer is his middle name,” put in Will. 

"He’s coming up on the nine-fifteen,” said the 
aide, turning to Bobby. "He’ll want to look the 
dam over and then come down the river leisurely 
so as to inspect the banks for mattressing. 
Craig is his name.” He waited, evidently for 
an answer, and Bobby rose slowly. 

"I’ll go,” he said, reluctantly, as he raised 
his left hand in the Scout salute. 

When the soldier had gone a peal of malicious 
laughter rang out. 

"/’w not going to do it'' mimicked Roy. 

"No sooner said than stung,” said another. 

"What in the dickens is mattressing?” laughed 
Will Bronson. "I’ve heard of springs up the 
river, but I never heard of mattresses there.” 

"I don’t see what the Army’s got to do with 
it, anyway,” said another boy. "Anyway, 
you’ll have a swell time. Bob. Don’t forget to 
ask him about convergent pressure.” 

58 


SOME JOLLIERS 

You fellows make me sick!’' grunted Bobby, 
bet he wears a plug-hat and gold specta- 
cles,” laughed Roy. ''He’ll look real sporty, I 
don’t think, coming down in the launch.” 

"You can have a nice long talk about friction; 
oh, happy day!” taunted another boy. 

"We must get Colonel Wade to tell us more 
about that massacre in the morning,” said 
Westy, "while Bob is up the line with old 
Highbrow — What’s-his-name?” 

"Craig.” 

"Professor Craig, LL.B., C.B.L., X.Y.Z.— ” 

"You give me a pain!” said Bobby. 

"Crusty Craig,” taunted Roy. "Tag; you’re 
it, Bobby.” 

"Gee! I’m easy, all right,” said Bobby, sul- 
lenly. 

"Uncle Sam put one over on you. Bob.” 

"It wasn’t Uncle Sam; it was you fellows.” 

"Well, you know you’re a tenderfoot. Bob, 
and you’ve got to be initiated.” 

"Tell Crusty Craig about the midnight ride 
of Paul Revere Cullen in Mr. Wentworth’s 
boat; he’ll be tickled to death.” 

"I’ll tell him nothing.” 

Just then the bugle sounded, and the boys 
adjourned to Uncle Sam’s tent A, where they 
stood in formation as the beautiful emblem. 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


resplendent in the dying sunlight, was hauled 
down. And as Bobby thought of all it stood 
for, of the shot and shell that had whizzed 
about it, of the red Indians in their ambush 
who had watched it from afar, of the peril 
bravely faced for its sake, and of the adventure 
— above all, of the adventure which it spelled 
- to those envied officers and their gallant men, 
the business of engineering — be it civil or un- 
civil — seemed more prosy and monotonous than 
ever, and he thought these sturdy men of action 
and adventure must regard the mathematical 
civilians, with their blue-print maps and fric- 
tions and convergent pressures with a sort of 
tolerant contempt. 

‘‘Not for mine!” he said to himself. 


VI 


''crusty’' 


APT. ELLSWORTH BURTON CRAIG, 



V->Army engineer, field geographer, revetment 
specialist, drainage and hydraulic expert, and a 
few other things, stepped briskly from the train 
at Milton and was immediately taken in hand 
by the officials of the water company and other 
important individuals who were waiting for 
him. Bobby stood in the background and eyed 
him curiously. 

He was of a trim physique, about thirty-five 
years old, and wore a green khaki suit with 
pleated and belted jacket, which fitted him to 
perfection. Encircling his brown wrist was a 
leather wristlet, and he wore a Rough Rider 
hat with a lead-pencil stuck in its cord. De- 
spite the earliness of the season, he was tanned 
almost to the hue of a mulatto, and he had a 
small mustache as black as ebony. He wore 
rimless glasses through which sparkled a pair 
of sharp brown eyes. 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


Bobby had his instructions, and at the first 
opportunity he stepped forward with as much 
self-possession as he could muster. 

‘‘I came up from Bridgeboro, sir,” said he, 
“with a launch to take you down. I’m one of 
the Scouts helping Colonel Wade in rescue-work. 
He said for you not to hurry, and for me to 
bring you down as slowly as you want. I am 
to do any errands for you.” 

“Thanks,” said the captain, tersely. “I’ll 
be with you shortly.” 

Bobby did not dare to venture upon the 
ruined dam with the group that accompanied 
the visitor; but he stood at a little distance 
on the lawn of the Water- Works, with his eyes 
riveted upon Captain Craig, who looked over 
the situation quite casually, as it seemed to 
him. The man kicked one or two stones from 
the broken masonry, and as he talked he picked 
up pebbles and scaled them across what was 
left of the lake. Sometimes he seemed to be 
indicating something with his foot as he moved 
about. He was quick in his movements, with 
a way of continuing his informal inspection 
even while the gentlemen talked to him, and 
there was a certain informality about him 
which Bobby rather liked. After a while he 
came toward the boy. 

62 


‘‘CRUSTY^’ 


^'Well, my boy,” he said, '^suppose we go 
along down and take a pike at things and see 
what we see.” 

Bobby smiled and looked rather curiously 
at this engineer, who said “take a pike” when 
he meant “inspect” or “survey,” and who 
looked like a spruced-up Rough Rider. He felt 
rather at home with the man, and yet there 
was something about the captain which rather 
diconcerted him. In spite of his offhand man- 
ner ^ he had a quick, choppy way of speaking 
and of waiting for an answer as if he expected 
it to be prompt and definite. Bobby had a feel- 
ing that if he were going to say anything he had 
better think it all out beforehand and get it 
just right. 

They were soon chugging down the stream. 

“How many miles an hour can you squeeze 
out of her?” the captain asked. 

“’Bout eight; she’s like a turtle; she’s built 
more for comfort than speed.” 

“Any fish in the river?” 

“They get perch.” 

“Dam fell all over itself, didn’t it?” 

“It sure did. It put our town out of busi- 
ness. My home’s gone, and my aunt and uncle, 
too. We lived right near the river.” 

The captain drew up his lips and shook his 
63 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


head. ‘‘Too bad,” said he. “Let me know 
when we come to what they call the second 
bend.” 

“Would you like to go slower? She throttles 
down fine. I can run close inshore if you like.” 

“No, she’d never jump her track here,” said 
the captain, evidently alluding to the river. 
“We’ll squint around down at the bend. I 
didn’t suppose there was wild water enough 
around here to raise such a rumpus.” 

“What’s wild water?” Bobby ventured. 

“Oh, it’s water that fiops around in the 
mountains without any regular path and has 
to be diverted.” 

“That means made to go a certain way?” 

“Yes.” 

“I had an idea,” said Bobby, after a few 
minutes’ silence. “Our cellar was always get- 
ting flooded, and I always had to pump it out. 
I was pumping the day before the flood. My 
uncle was going to get a gas-engine to pump 
with, but when I was pumping that day I had 
an idea — Don’t you think you get ideas 
easier when you’re working?” 

“Surest thing you know.” 

“I had an idea that if I dug a ditch along the 
side of the house the water would go into it in 
high tides and flow away, maybe into the 
64 


‘‘CRUSTY’’ 

sewer. You wouldn’t call ' that diverting — 
like?” 

“Sure.” 

Bobby hesitated. “It wouldn’t be engineer- 
ing — kind of — ^would it?” 

“Yes, in a small way.” 

“And my uncle he thought the gas-engine 
was the best way. What would you call that?” 

“Why, I’d call that just sheer nonsense. 
Wouldn’t you?” 

This was the first time that an engineer had 
ever asked Bobby’s opinion, and he felt quite 
flattered. 

The captain smiled slightly. “You can’t 
very well claim there are no wild beasts left in 
this old continent when wild water is dashing 
around in the mountains.” 

“Well, you can’t shoot it,” said Bobby; 
“that’s one sure thing.” 

“You can tame it,” said Captain Craig, “and 
make it come down and earn its board.” 

Bobby stared at him, but said nothing. Then 
he laughed. He liked Captain Craig.* “Gee! 
I never liked engineers,” he said. “I must 
say I never liked them, but — ” 

The captain began to laugh. 

“I like adventures,” said Bobby. “I’d like 
to join the Army if I could be with Colonel 
65 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


Wade. The trouble with engineering is there 
isn’t any fighting in it. They just do figuring 
all the time.” 

‘‘So?” said the captain. 

‘‘Sure,” said Bobby; “but I don’t believe 
we’ll get into a war, anyway. Do you?” 

“Don’t know,” said the captain. “I’m so 
busy scrapping I don’t have time to think about 
wars.” 

Bobby -looked at him and laughed again. 
“Oh, of course,” he conceded, “a civil engineer 
might get into a scrap the same as any one else. 
I’ve been in scraps. But I mean regular fighting. 
There’s nothing exciting about engineering.” 

“No?” 

“They’re always talking about strains and 
pressures and things like that.” 

“Yes?” said the captain. 

“’Bout the only place you can find adven- 
tures is in books,” Bobby continued; “unless 
you go into the Army.” He looked at the cap- 
tain, who was half smiling. “Do — do you do 
regular engineering?” Bobby asked. 

“I make a stab at it.” 

“’Cause I was kind of wondering about your 
uniform.” 

“That’s on account of the boss; he’s a queer 
old duffer and kind of likes it.” 

66 


^TRUSTY’’ 


Bobby hesitated, pondering his next ques- 
tion. “Who’s that?” he finally ventured. 

“Uncle Sam.” 

Bobby paused incredulously. “You work 
for the Government?” 

“That’s what I do.” 

“Gee! I didn’t know that.” 

They ran inshore going around the second 
bend, and the captain scrutinized the banks 
closely, while Bobby scrutinized the captain. 
The engineer watched the curving shore care- 
fully for a mile or more. 

“She’s about two-thirds to ebb, isn’t she?” 
he asked once. 

“ ’Bout an hour more and it ’ll be ebb,” Bobby 
answered. 

“You catch any muskrats?” 

“The fishermen do.” 

“They’ve got the whole place honeycombed, 
haven’t they?” the captain commented. “Chan- 
nel runs on the long turn here, hey?” 

Bobby wondered how he knew. 

“Ought to be some trees planted along there 
to prevent erosion.” 

“What’s erosion?” 

' ‘ Loose earth — slides . ” 

“How would trees prevent it?” 

“Same as straw in bricks — ties the earth to- 
67 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


gether. Run across now and we’ll take a squint 
at that point. She’ll jump her traces there 
some day sure as you’re a foot high. Guess 
that used to be a bar, hey? Some swamp a 
mile or two back.” 

Bobby knew there was, but he wondered 
again how the captain knew. 

For a while Captain Craig was very much pre- 
occupied, and Bobby did not dare to interrupt 
him. Then, of a sudden, he sat down and said, 
apparently to himself, “Well, it’s just a ques- 
tion of an appropriation.” 

Bobby waited a little while, then gathered 
his courage and came out with the question he 
had been pondering. “Would you mind tell- 
ing me about how you scrap — if you don’t 
mind my asking?” 

The captain looked at him a moment, and a 
little humorous twist appeared in the corner 
of his mouth. Then, having found his range, 
he delivered a broadside which almost knocked 
Bobby Cullen off his seat. 

“Well, then,” said he, crisply, “just suppose 
I tell you that while you were reading adven- 
tures in books and while Colonel Wade was 
sitting in Fort Something-or-other several years 
ago, this little old country of ours was attacked 
by a powerful enemy.” 

68 


“CRUSTY’’ 


Bobby stared. 

‘‘Sure as you live; it was really a triple 
alliance, and the main enemy’s two allies were 
a pretty tough proposition. Well, sir, they 
rushed over the land and left death and devasta- 
tion in their path. There was no stopping them 
— it was a great drive.” 

Bobby’s mouth and eyes opened wider, but 
he said nothing. 

“Our losses were pretty heavy, all told. We 
lost more people than were lost in the Spanish 
War — where Colonel Wade was cavorting 
around. You’d hardly believe it if I told you 
that the enemy pulled off a night march of 
sixty miles in an hour and forty minutes — ” 

“They couldn’t — ” 

“But they did, though; they threw their 
flanks over a hundred miles or so of good 
United States territory, right here under the 
nose of old Uncle Sam, and laid waste about a 
dozen towns.” 

Bobby shook his head incredulously. “I — I 
don’t see how that could happen without our 
hearing about it.” 

“Oh, you were all too busy reading adven- 
tures.” 

“You — were you in the fight?” 

“Yes, in the thick of it.” 

69 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

There was a pause. 

'‘Jiminy crinkums!” said Bobby. 

'‘So I don’t feel that I can let you get away 
with that notion of yours of engineers not 
fighting.” 

“Who was the enemy?” Bobby asked. 

“The Mississippi River.” 

For a moment Bobby felt inclined to resent 
being made fun of in this manner. 

“The allies were the Ohio and the Missouri,” 
the captain went on. 

Slowly a light began to dawn upon Bobby. 
“Was it floods — and things like that, you 
mean?” 

“Mm-hm!” 

“What was the cause of it all?” 

“Unpreparedness. So Uncle Sam had to get 
around back of the enemy’s lines, intercept his 
communications, and prevent future campaigns. 
We had to go way out to Montana to cut off 
his base of supplies.” 

“The Mississippi River starts in Illinois,” 
said Bobby, incredulously. “We learned that 
in the fourth grade.” 

“Just the same it keeps one of its munition- 
plants in Montana.” 

“How did you cut off its base of supplies?” 

“Same as you would have deflected the water 
70 


‘‘CRUSTY” 

outside the cellar. You’re an engineer; you 
ought to know.” 

“Gee!” 

“Then we built a big national prison for a 
good deal of the wild water, and there it is 
now, under guard.” 

“What kind of guard?” 

“Concrete dam — ’bout twenty times as big 
as this one.” 

Bobby was beginning to understand. 

“We keep the water in a big valley twenty 
miles long above the dam — except when we 
make it come down and work. Then it has to 
march in line and behave itself and irrigate the 
land — earn its board.” 

Bobby pursed up his mouth and shook his 
head. “I bet that’s the biggest dam in the 
world,” said he. 

“We’ve got a bigger one under way — ’bout 
three hundred feet high — not counting the flag- 
pole. What would you say to that?” 

“Has it got a name?” 

‘ ‘ Sure. Roosevelt Dam. ’ ’ 

“Gee!” said Bobby. “You remind me of 
Roosevelt — I thought of that — ” 

“Oh, I’m just an engineer, you know,” the 
captain reminded him. 

“Well, a fellow can be mistaken, can’t he?” 

71 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


said Bobby. — I — of course, I didn’t know 

everything about engineering.” 

The captain laughed outright. 

'‘I bet there’ll be a lot of wild water behind 
that dam.” 

'‘Oh, a few teaspoonfuls,” said the captain. 

"’Bout how much?” 

"Pretty near thirty miles of it.” 

"Is it near here? I’d like to see it.” 

"It’s out in Arizona,” said the captain; then, 
with a quizzical glance at Bobby. "Still, you 
might see it.” 

"Oh, I know about Arizona,” Bobby shouted. 
"It has a hot, dry climate — rains — I always 
wanted to go to Arizona. It’s worth while 
having a vacation out there — that’s one sure 
thing. Oh, crinkums! I would like to go to 
Arizona!” 

"So?” said the captain. "Well, stranger 
things than that have happened.” 

" And then you make the water come down 
and irrigate the land instead of overflowing the 
rivers?” 

"That’s the idea exactly. And as it passes 
out little by little alongside the dam it turns 
wheels and furnishes electricity to light distant 
cities. Uncle Sam makes his war - prisoners 
work, you can bet.” 


72 


“CRUSTY’’ 

Bobby paused again. ‘‘Gee! it seems funny, 
doesn’t it?” 

‘‘Not nearly as funny as fighting floods with 
gas-engines.” 

Bobby was on his guard at once. ‘‘My uncle 
was trying to find the best way,” he said. ‘‘I 
got to be loyal. He was killed and I got to be 
loyal to him.” 

The captain looked at him sharply — just as 
he had scrutinized the banks of the river. 

‘‘Believe in loyalty, do you?” 

‘‘Sure, just the same as a fellow has to be 
loyal to his boss — same as you have to be loyal 
to — to Uncle Sam — like — ” 

‘‘I see.” 

‘‘ Mr. Bronson told me that, and he’s president 
of a bank, so he ought to know.” 

‘‘Think you could be loyal to Uncle Sam, do 
you?” 

‘‘ Jiminy ! he seems like a real person when you 
talk about him.” 


VII 


BOBBY GIVES HIS WORD 

T O say that Bobby followed the captain 
about during his flying visit to Bridgeboro 
and vicinity would hardly be doing justice to 
his persistence. He -haunted him; he dogged 
his footsteps; he made a complete turn about 
in his opinion of engineers and engineering, to 
the great amusement of his companions, who 
called him the captain's ‘‘Good Man Friday,” 
‘‘Sancho Panza,” “teacher's pet,” and other 
names. He chugged the captain about on the 
river — for the flood had drawn Uncle Sam's 
attention to this obscure stream, and he was 
thinking of dredging it and reveting its banks — 
and it was in these excursions that he heard 
more in detail of the wonderful “Salt River 
Project” in Arizona, for the regulation of floods 
and the reclamation of arid lands. 

In the Army tents he heard something, too, 
about Captain Craig and his relation to the 
Reclamation Service which was conducting this 
74 


BOBBY GIVES HIS WORD 


stupendous enterprise and others like it. He 
learned that the captain had made the storage 
survey for the inland sea formed by the dam; 
that the dam itself was partly designed by him; 
and that he had planned the two long canals 
in the country below from which innumerable 
smaller canals penetrated the public farm lands, 
watering them and rendering them fertile and 
productive. 

He learned that the captain was called the 
''stormy petrel” of the service; that he was in 
the habit of descending upon the various West- 
ern projects unexpectedly and disappearing as 
suddenly, and that he carried enough detailed 
scientific information in his mind to drive any 
six ordinary men crazy. He learned that the 
captain was essentially a man of action, that 
he abominated red tape, and that he loathed 
Washington, and chafed exceedingly when called 
before Congressional committees. His pockets 
were always stuffed with odds and ends of 
paper — old envelopes, and so forth — crowded 
with figures, and as if all these things were not 
enough he must know all about fishing, shoot- 
ing, baseball, splicing ropes, lighting fires in 
pelting rains, how to tell mushrooms from toad- 
stools, what to do when lost in the woods, and 
so forth, and so forth; and he superintended 

6 75 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


the job of bringing Wentworth’s boat back to 
the river by devising a windlass across the 
stream and fastening the end of the long length 
of rope right around the hull so that she could 
be drawn across the marsh with surprisingly 
little effort and with no straining of her 
frame, 

^‘Same idea as stump-hauling,” he said, as 
they watched the queer-looking bulk come sway- 
ing and staggering across the marsh for all the 
world like a great lumbering turtle. ''Out at 
the project we pull a stump just like an old 
molar; you could pull out one of the California 
redwoods the same way if necessary, or pry 
the end off the Big Dipper if you had a big 
enough stick,” he added, turning to one of the 
boys. ' ' W onderf ul thing — leverage. ’ ’ 

As the days passed and the time drew near 
for Captain Craig’s departure, Bobby was con- 
scious of a growing desire to go out to the 
"project” with him. He was afraid to suggest 
such a thing, however, fearing that the cap- 
tain would only scoff good-naturedly. 

At last, one day they were coming up from 
a point down the river, where the captain had 
been making some notes on topographic work 
for the "geologic boys” who would be coming 
along later on their mapping tour. 

76 


BOBBY GIVES HIS WORD 


“Bob/' said he, suddenly, “how'd you like 
to go out West?” 

“ Believe me, it’s my middle name,” said Bobby. 

“Do you know. Bob, in all these little spins 
we’ve had there are two thing about you I’ll 
remember best of all— two home runs you put 
over the plate. You know, in the levees down 
on the Mississippi they have what they call 
crevasses — holes that get larger and larger and 
finally let the water through. Well, the Rec- 
lamation boys down that way get so they can 
tell where a hole is going to be before it begins ; 
there are little signs they tell by. In the same 
way some little thing a person says may be a 
sign of what’s in him. If I were to judge by a 
sign like that and then get stung it would be a 
black eye for me, wouldn’t it?” 

“It sure would,” said Bobby, wondering 
what was coming next. 

“Well, these are my two signs about you. 
Bob; one was your wanting to dig that ditch 
along the side of the house, and the other was 
what you said about loyalty. You might send 
over to Washington and get a lot of civil-ser- 
vice stuff, and pass an examination and get a 
certificate and go out to the project and loaf 
around and get transferred and suspended and 
one thing or another and be a general nuisance 
77 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


that we couldn’t get rid of unless we threw you 
in the storage lake. You could bring me a letter 
from a Congressman that Fd only use to figure 
pressures on the back of. But what you said 
about the ditch and about loyalty — that’s the 
kind of stuff I judge by. 

'‘If I should decide to take you along and 
let you help us dig ditches, the question is 
could you be loyal? That’s the watchword of 
the service. You’d have to put out your hand 
and grasp Uncle Sam’s grimy old hand and say, 
'I’m with you to the last ditch.’ If a water 
company should come along and offer you more 
money you’d have to say, ‘Nothing doing; I’m 
helping my old uncle get his big house in order, 
and here I’m going to stay till we raise sweet 
peas in the desert.’ Think you could say some- 
thing like that?” 

"You make it seem as if I could almost feel 
his hand, kind of,” said Bobby. 

"That’s the idea. You’d have to live rough. 
Bob, sleep in a cabin, and you might have to 
risk your life even for the sake of the boss. But, 
above all, you’d have to throw your heart into 
that storage lake so hard that it would make 
a big splash. You spoke of loyalty to your 
uncle. Do you think you could feel the same 
way about your other uncle — Uncle Sam?” 

78 


BOBBY GIVES HIS WORD 


The boy nodded his head; he felt almost 
too much affected to speak. 

The captain waited a minute. ‘‘All right, 
Bob,” he said. “I understand.” 

“If — if I didn't do it for Uncle Sam I’d do 
it for you, anyway — that’s one thing.” 

“That’s all right. Bob.” 

“Even if you didn’t like me, I could be loyal 
to you. My uncle — ” 

“You’ve only got one uncle now. Bob. Do 
you want to come out West and help him chore 
around? I’ll talk to Mr. Bronson, and then 
I’ll fight it out with the Civil Service bunch.” 

“I — anyway, it’s lucky I thought about that 
ditch, even if I did get licked for it.” 

“Licked?” the captain asked, knitting his 
brows. 

“Yes, but — but my uncle had lots of things 
on his mind,” Bobby hastened to explain. 

“I see,” said the captain, dryly. 

He talked things over with Mr. Bronson; he 
fought it out with the “Civil Service bunch”; 
and, as usual, he came away from the fight with 
bells on. 


VIII 


WHAT BOBBY HEARD IN THE WAGON 

T he next is Mesa — road to Contractors’ 
Camp.” 

The brakeman closed the door with a bang 
and came staggering through the car, grasping 
the seat-backs to right and left of him and try- 
ing to accommodate his movements to the 
jarring and swaying of the train as it made the 
bend just east of Highland Canal and went 
rattling over it to Mesa station. 

Bobby rose, stretched himself, and brushed 
some of the penetrating Arizona sand from his 
clothing. 

”Is it much farther?” he asked. 

“’Bout three minutes,” said the captain. 
“Uncle Sam sprawls over a pretty big map, 
doesn’t he, Bob?” 

“I never knew you could travel so far on 
one railroad, I sure didn’t.” 

“You could take the rails we’ve traveled 
over and wrap ’em around Great Britain and 
8o 


WHAT BOBBY HEARD 

tie ^em in a bow; that’s the kind of a back 
yard your uncle has to play in. See those gray 
hills over there? White Mountain Reservation 
up that way. Grab that suit-case and I’ll take 
the tripod. They’ll be waiting to welcome 
you, Bob.” 

Bobby felt in his pocket to make sure of the 
safety of the fifty dollars which Mr. Bronson 
had given him for a rainy day, though, to be 
sure, there are few enough rainy days in Ari- 
zona. He felt strangely excited, now that the 
end of the long journey was at hand. 

A number of one-story frame buildings were 
grouped about the station, at Mesa, and on one 
of these, evidently a hotel, was an enormous 
sign: HULLO, bub! 

‘‘What’d I tell you?” laughed the captain. 

“Does it — It doesn’t mean me?” Bobby 
asked, incredulously. 

“Every stranger out here is Bub; that’s just 
to let you know you’re welcome, no matter 
who you are. That’s the way they do out 
West.” 

Mesa stood on land as flat as a checker- 
board, but to the east great gray hills rose, with 
here and there some giant peak touched with 
the first crimson rays of sunset. For a quarter 
of a mile or so plain wooden houses could be 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


seen, standing well apart from one another and 
between them and beyond them a vast gray 
openness with isolated bushes here and there. 

As they passed around the hotel another 
cordial sign attracted Bobby’s attention and 
reminded him of that day he had been kept in 
school. It read, free board every day the 
SUN DOES NOT SHINE. Evidently the people of 
Arizona had implicit faith in their climate, for 
they made the most liberal offers on the weather 
probabilities, another sign reading, free cigars 

WHEN IT RAINS. 

In front of the hotel was a heavy wagon, on 
the hooped canvas top of which were painted 
the letters U. S.; the pole was drawn out, 
and no horses were visible. Out from the 
hotel strode an enormous, smooth-faced man 
with eyes that twinkled in his expansive visage, 
and lips that turned up at the ends in a shrewd, 
fixed smile. In the corner of his mouth was a 
cigar, pointing upward, which seemed almost 
to be one of his features, so necessary was it to 
his expression. He wore a gray flannel shirt 
and a cowboy hat. It seemed to Bobby that 
he was singularly easy in his greeting of two 
people who had come such a long journey and 
whose arrival was something of an event. 

‘‘Hello, Luke!” said the captain. 

32 


WHAT BOBBY HEARD 


''How do, Cap’n,” the other drawled. 

"Bob,” said the captain, "this is Mr. Mer- 
rick. Mr. Merrick's water-master. You have 
to keep on the right side of him or you won’t 
pull much of a stroke around here. This is 
Robert Cullen, Luke, come out to give us a 
hand. He’s an engineer in the chrysalis stage. 
He’s seen something of the damage water can 
do, and now he’s going to see the use it can be 
put to. I believe I’ll dump him on you, Luke.” 

Mr. Merrick screwed his cigar farther up 
into the corner of his mouth and smiled his ex- 
pansive smile down upon Bobby. "Like to 
sleep in that thing, I bet, wouldn’t yer?” he 
drawled, amused at Bobby’s notice of the 
wagon. 

"Yes, I would,” said Bobby. "Are we 
going to the dam to-night?” 

"To-morrer mornin’,” said the water-master. 

After supper Bobby was shown to a small, 
neat room, 'while the captain and Mr. Merrick 
disappeared, probably to talk things over. 

"You can turn in whenever you like. Bob,” 
the captain had said, "but be down here at 
sunrise unless you want to hike it fifty miles.” 

It was in that little room, out in the strange 
Far West, that Bobby Cullen felt the first and 
only twinge of homesickness which he was to 
S3 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


suffer in all the time he spent in Arizona. Dur- 
ing the long journey he had forgotten every- 
thing else in Captain Craig’s companionship 
and interesting talk; but the captain’s period 
of enforced leisure being now ended, he had very 
promptly deserted Bobby, and the boy felt 
just a little pang of resentment, and a sense of 
loneliness out in this far country where every- 
thing was so different from what it was at home. 

For a little while he would have given every- 
thing for just one glimpse of the Bronson boys 
and poor old ruined Main Street, back home 
in Bridgeboro. 

He was a little ashamed of this feeling, for 
the Black Ranger, to say nothing of the Deep 
Sea Boys and Dan Dreadnaught, and other 
heroes whose careers he had followed in endless 
series, had all left home and parents without 
the slightest compunction and gone to the four 
corners of the earth with never so much as a 
lingering regret. 

But Bobby Cullen was no hero, just a real, 
every-day boy, and he felt lonesome and home- 
sick. 

Sleeping was out of the question, so instead of 
going to bed he looked out of the window at the 
vast new country. It was very quiet outside. 
He missed the familiar springtime ^croaking of 


WHAT BOBBY HEARD 


the frogs in the marsh at home. Near at hand 
he heard the occasional stamping of horses in 
their stalls, and before the door still stood the 
lumbering old wagon with its hooped canvas 
roof, looking like the spray-hood of a motor- 
boat, and its tall pole standing up, spectral in 
the dim light. 

Bobby would have liked to sleep in ‘'that 
wagon.’’ How cozy it would be, curled up 
there in the darkness, rattling across the 
country. He wondered how it looked inside. 
He wished they had decided to start that night. 

He tiptoed from the room and stole cautious- 
ly out into the night. No one was about. He 
stood upon the rear step of the wagon and peered 
inside. There was straw on the floor and a 
heavy Indian blanket. He could see boxes 
and other articles stored on shelves, and two 
huge leather bags hanging in the corner. Two 
rifles and a fire-ax hung from the hoop ribs. 
It was very inviting in there. 

Bobby lifted himself inside and peered about 
in the darkness. A hinged partition, forming 
a back for the driver’s seat, separated the body 
from the front part of the wagon. There was 
a suggestion of gipsy life about this rough but 
comfortable interior; it spoke to Bobby very 
eloquently of the “wild West”; of pioneers 
8s 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


crossing the prairies. He lay down on the 
straw and pulled the blanket over him — ^just 
to see how it would seem. He had no definite 
intention of remaining there for the balance of 
the night, but he must have fallen into a doze, 
for presently he was half roused by the swaying 
and creaking of the wagon as some one climbed 
into the seat beyond the partition. 

'‘Good a place to sit as any,” said a voice, 
and by the time Bobby was sufficiently wide 
awake to realize that he was eavesdropping he 
had become so much interested in the conver- 
sation that he could not bring himself to make 
his presence known. 

“Well,” said a second voice, “I don’t see why 
you didn’t tip him off?” 

“’Cause I knew him, that’s why.” 

“He might have dickered with the Gov’ment 
for water, and no secret, and who could say 
the tunnel wasn’t his to use?” 

“I’d rother he’d pay me than the Govern- 
ment. When you hear of me telling a man, 
you’ll know he’s the kind ’ll deal with me. 
Suppose I’d have told him — just suppose I’d 
’a’ told him, now? He’d of paid his rates, 
and glad enough to do it, and every blamed 
desert-land entryman down that way would 
have to pay his rates, and where’d I be? I’d 
86 


WHAT BOBBY HEARD 


have ’bout as much out of it as the petrified 
mummies that dug the tunnel — that’s how 
much Fd have. I’ll get what the Government 
owes me, or know why.” 

'Ht’s a pretty risky business,” said the other. 

'‘Risky when you’re dealing with a boob, 
yes. But I know how to hold my cards, I do. 
Why, if I’d have sized him up right, you don’t 
suppose he’d of been growin’ cactus these six 
months, do you? He could have had short- 
rations water six months ago. But he was for 
driving to church here in Mesa and shouting 
about Uncle Sam and starving to death on dry 
farming all the while. Well, he did it, and now 
he’s East selling his land — that’s where he is.” 

"All because you didn’t like his looks, hey?” 

"All because he caught the same bug as 
they’ve all got around here — shouting Uncle 
Sam — home - builder, and 'Three cheers,’ and 
all that junk. I had my experience with Uncle 
Sam.” 

"Uncle Sam’s all right,” said the other. 

"All right for them up in Roosevelt that’s 
got pull, yes; they’re getting their money right 
along. But look at these people making home- 
stead entries and paying their fees down at 
Phoenix for water they didn’t get — an’ never 
will get,” 


87 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

^‘They’ll.get it, all right.” 

“Well,” said the principal speaker, “there’s 
just about fifteen feet of earth between me and 
Easy Street and there it ’ll stay till I get the 
cush.” 

The other laughed. “It’s a kind of a grab- 
bag, as it seems to me,” he said. “You don’t 
know who you’ll get next. It may be ten years 
before he sells his land.” 

“Well, the tunnel’s waited a few years and 
none the worse for it, and it can wait a couple 
more. I’ll wait and take my chance on the 
next owner. If I pull a freak I’ll go on waiting 
and he’ll dry-farm it, and shout ‘Uncle Sam’ 
like all the rest of ’em, and starve — like I’m 
doing and have his eyes blown full of sand 
like—” 

“Did he clear away his sage?” the other in- 
terrupted. 

“Every blooming bush of it.” 

“Well,” said the other, “I wash my hands 
of it. There mayn’t be overmuch water yet, 
but I reckon there’s enough for me to wash 
my hands of a deal like that.” 

“You’re straight, ain’t you?” the other asked, 
with a note of anxiety in his voice. 

“Oh, go ahead. You needn’t worry for fear 
of me. You and me are old friends, only it 
88 


WHAT BOBBY HEARD 


ain’t in my line. I guess I’m spoiled,” he 
added. worked for Uncle Sam down Pana- 
ma and got this bronze medal for two years’ 
service, and I guess the old gent kind of spoiled 
me. I reckon I couldn’t put one like that over 
on him.” 

'‘Well, you’re the only one that knows,” said 
the other man, “and don’t forget I carry my 
gun same as always.” 

This ghastly hint about closed the subject, 
and after they had talked for a little while on 
other matters they climbed down and wandered 
off beyond the freight-station. 

Bobby sat up with a queer feeling of excite- 
ment. His first impulse was to feel in his 
pocket to see if his precious fifty dollars was 
safe. Then he tried to spell out the purport 
of that strange talk and of the appalling hint 
about the gun. What did it mean? And who 
were those two men? A month later he would 
have understood such talk better, but in a 
hazy kind of way he gleaned that there was 
some scheme to swindle the Government, and 
that one of the men was too loyal to Uncle Sam 
to go into it. He wondered what the tunnel 
could be, and who were the “petrified mum- 
mies” who had made it. 

He could not make up his mind whether the 
89 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


man who had the Panama medal was right in 
his protestations of loyalty to his unprincipled 
friend. '‘Perhaps he is loyal because he is 
afraid,” thought Bobby. 

The big, smiling, honest visage of Luke Mer- 
rick, the water-master, broke upon Bobby like 
a burst of sunshine in the morning as he still 
lay in the wagon, and it seemed to wash away 
those slurs against the Government which he 
had overheard. 

"Have a good sleep?” asked the water- 
master. "I kinder knew I’d find ye out here. 
Well, who do you think ye’d like to have fer 
your boss?” he asked. 

"Uncle Sam’s my boss,” said Bobby. 

"Right the fust time,” said Luke. 


IX 


SOME HISTORY, A LITTLE GEOGRAPHY, AND A 
LITTLE AGRICULTURE 

T he chill of the night was not yet passed 
when the lumbering wagon, drawn by two 
of Uncle Sam’s horses, pulled out of Mesa. 

For about two hours and a half they journeyed 
over a desert where no vegetation was to be 
seen save ugly sage-brush and gigantic cactus. 

'‘After we hit Goldfield,” explained Mr. 
Merrick, “we’ll begin to climb up-stairs, ’n’ 
then you can see the valley; valley b’longs to 
the farmers, ’n’ the gulch b’longs to the en- 
gineers ’n’ smart Alecks. This summer the val- 
ley ’n’ the gulch is goin’ to have a ball-game 
’n’ we’re goin’ to wallop ’em.” 

“Which are you?” said Bobby. 

“Me? Oh, I’m both; when I’m up to camp 
I repr’sent the farmers, ’n’ when I’m down 
valley I repr’sent the construction bunch. 
Blessed is the peacemaker,” he added. 

7 91 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

‘‘Do you work for Uncle Sam, too?” Bobby 
asked. 

“Td like to see anybody stand up ’n’ say 
I don’t.” 

It was a tedious, dusty drive to Goldfield, 
where they had a second breakfast and where 
Mr. Merrick piled some boxes of provisions 
and small hardware into the wagon. 

Then began a ride over the most extraor- 
dinary road that Bobby had ever seen. If he 
had been up in a balloon the experience could 
hardly have been more sensational. Before 
them was a range of rugged mountains, the 
jagged pinnacles of which rose straight up from 
the plains, and directly they were out of Gold- 
field the road began its winding ascent of the 
frowning uplands which were to usher them 
into the dizzy fastness beyond. 

‘‘There, now ye can look down ’n’ see the 
project,” said Luke. “That’s Salt River Valley 
where ye came from. Ye can see the river 
’n’ the Highland Canal that ye crossed on the 
railroad; up northard there’s the long canal. 
There’s Tempe ’n’ there’s Phoenix where the 
land office is, ’n’ where they make complaints 
’gainst the cap’n. Hey, Cap’n? Down off 
that way ye can see Maricopa Indian Village.” 

As Luke pointed with his whip Bobby saw 

92 


HISTORY, GEOGRAPHY 

the whole flat valley with the towns spread 
here and there upon it like toy villages on a 
carpet. The river ran through the center of the 
valley, and branching from it on either side 
were two winding canals, with other canals 
branching from them, until far in the distance 
they merged together, looking like a gigantic 
feather. Some of these smaller canals ran out 
very far from the trunk lines, and these in 
turn had still other branch canals sticking out 
almost at right angles from themselves. 

“Them’s laterals,” said Mr. Merrick. “Uncle 
Sam builds the canals ’n’ the main laterals 
’n’ there he stops. Sub-laterals ’n’ half-subs 
are built by the farmers. Now, see if ye can 
remember that, ’cause you’ll want to know yer 
A B C’s won’t he, Cap’n? First comes the 
canals, the two long ones, ’n’ there’ll be more 
later; then comes the laterals stickin’ out from 
them; then comes the sub-laterals, then the 
half-subs; then the field furrows, or maybe 
free wash. Then there might be midget laterals. 
Now, where does Uncle Sam take his stand?” 

“At the end of the main laterals,” Bobby 
answered, promptly. 

“Right you are. Now look off to the south- 
ard there. See that brown speck? That’s 
older ’n you ’n’ me ’n’ the cap’n ’n’ Uncle 
93 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


Sam put together. That’s Cassy Grandy.^ 
That was put up by prehistorics. That old 
heap o’ stones is a thousand years old, maybe.” 

^‘Gee!” said Bobby, with difficulty locating 
the infinitesimal ruin. 

There was a feller out here from the Smith- 
son ^ Institute down to Washington, ’n’ he 
found an underground passage leadin’ from that 
out a mile, ’n’ there it all caved in — reg’lar 
soup-tureen passage.” 

The captain laughed. 

‘‘All that valley there was irrigated once by 
the prehistorics, wasn’t it, Cap’n?” 

“Guess there’s no doubt of that,” the cap- 
tain conceded. 

“Yes, sir; they was like the Incoes down 
Peru way ’n’ the Asticks here in Mexico. 
They was a kind o’ branch of the Asticks, I 
reckon — ” 

“Sub-laterals,” suggested the captain, wink- 
ing at Bobby. 

“They had their ditches, miles on ’em, didn’t 
they, Cap’n, ’n’ their sub-irrigation — ” 

“I never saw any signs of that,” said the 
captain. 

“Well, Brunt from the Geologic Survey, he 
had a chunk o’ something he said was a clay 

^ Casa Grande. ^ Smithsonian Institution. 


94 


HISTORY, GEOGRAPHY 

tile — porous clay tile, they used in their sub- 
mains. But I never see no sub-mains myself. 
Warren found one, 'n’ it turned out to be a 
prairie-dog furrow.’’ 

guess so,” laughed the captain. 

^‘But, leastways, Uncle Sam couldn’t tell 
them nothin’ ’bout agriculture. They had their 
cities and their schools and maybe their land 
office, for all we know. Up here ’bove camp, 
if you go on a tramp of a Sunday, you’ll see cliff 
dwellin’s — dozens on ’em. It’s my theory they 
was up there buildin’ a storage lake; maybe 
they had a construction camp. G’lang,” he 
added to the horses. 

The panorama of Salt River Valley was soon 
shut out from their view, though Bobby could 
still catch glimpses of it now and then as the 
wagon wound its way up through the rugged 
heights. The sun was now well up and, lighting 
the canons around which they passed, it painted 
their rocky depths in a hundred wonderful colors. 

In places the road was carved in vertical 
cliffs, and Bobby looked into the appalling 
abysses which it skirted and instinctively tight- 
ened his grasp of the stanchion at his side. 
For a while they were close to Salt River, and 
he heard its echoes as it found its troubled way 
through the rocky chaos far below them. 

95 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


'^Who made this road?” he asked. 

^‘Cap’n Craig — with Uncle Sam to help 
him,” Luke chuckled. 

Bobby looked about him in silent wonder. 
Not a sound could he hear save the steady tramp 
of the horses, sometimes echoed from the tower- 
ing gray walls. High above them across the 
narrow strip of sky which was visible sped a 
great bird, hurrying to its home among the 
crags. And now and then he caught the dis- 
tant sound of falling water. After a while he 
broke the long silence. 

” Cracky! if I came out here and intended 
not to be loyal and was going to — not be square 
with Uncle Sam, kind of — I’d change my mind 
when I saw this road. I sure would.” 

“It’s all for them folks down- valley,” said 
Luke. 

“Is it Government land down there?” Bobby 
asked. 

“Not much on it. On some of the projects 
’tis, but not here; but that makes no manner 
o’ difference; Uncle Sam’s glad enough to give 
it a drink o’ water, and there’s lots o’ land to 
be settled yet. Next year they’ll be able to 
raise more on one acre than they’re raisin’ on 
three now. A man can sell half his farm and 
have double the crops he had before. That’s 
96 


HISTORY, GEOGRAPHY 

what they call intensive farmin’. There’s a 
sort of rhyme they have: 

“They used to have a farmin’ rule 
Of forty acres and a mule; 

Results were won by later men 
With forty square feet and a hen; 

And nowadays success we see 
With forty inches and a bee. 

^‘Pretty soon a man ’ll be able to carry his 
farm round in his pocket, won’t he, Cap’n?” 

After a while they passed a little group of 
Indians, and it seemed to Bobby that all the 
persons and properties were at hand for a stage- 
coach attack and massacre such as he had read 
of, but the whole picture was spoiled when the 
captain called, '‘Hello, William!” to one of the 
Indians. 

"Apaches,” said Luke. "They helped build 
this road.” 

About the middle of the afternoon they came 
out into a spot which was only less wild than 
the road they had traversed, and here in almost 
complete isolation stood Frazer’s Road House, 
where they changed the horses and had dinner. 
Other Apache Indians were lolling about the 
place, and Bobby was disappointed to find that 
they talked English very well and didn’t call 
97 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


the white men ''pale faces.” One of them had 
several dollar bills which he proudly said had 
been paid him by a moving-picture man for 
posing as a warrior chief. Wherever you go 
you will find that the "movie man” has been 
there before you. 

For three hours more they followed a road 
which, if it had been drawn out straight, Bobby 
thought, would have reached across the con- 
tinent. It traversed depths where grayish walls 
rose sheer on either side, where the stillness and 
sense of isolation was intense, and out from the 
semi-darkness of these places they would pass, 
as from a tunnel, along some giddy height, where 
the waning sunlight fell upon still higher 
places, bathing them in its crimson glow. 

At last, amid the rocky chaos in the distance 
Bobby glimpsed a streak of white wedged, as 
it were, between high, gray hills which rose and 
slanted away from it so that it seemed only to 
fill the apex at their base, where it was thrown 
into bright relief against the dull grayness of 
the cliffs. 

"There she is, Bob,” said the captain. 

"The dam?” he asked, eagerly. 

"That’s it.” 

Bobby did not know whether to be disap- 
pointed or not. The white streak seemed out of 
98 


HISTORY, GEOGRAPHY 

all proportion to its surroundings. It spanned 
only the lower and narrower portion of a mam- 
moth gulch, but whether the discrepancy was 
caused by his extravagant expectations or be- 
cause of the rugged immensity of nature, he 
did not know. 

In a little while he saw it again from another 
angle and a lower altitude, and its impressive- 
ness and the silent wonder of it began to dawn 
upon him. He had a good imagination and the 
huge structure standing there in that untamed 
gorge grew to seem nothing less than heroic. 
Not a sign of life was there; no house, no road, 
nothing but nature — wild, confused, tremen- 
dous, frowning, unpiled nature — and the dam. 
It stood there amid its wild surroundings, ma- 
jestic and self-assured. 

That was the view of Roosevelt Dam that 
Bobby always liked best. 

Soon they were making the steep descent 
into the gulch, their wheels chained and the 
horses holding themselves back with supreme 
effort; and now Bobby began to see the detail 
of the great structure as he looked down upon 
it. It curved inward, seeming to brace itself 
as a wrestler braces himself, and its flanks bit 
into the cliffs, following tenaciously every curve 
and cranny of the huge bordering walls. It 
99 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

was in the form of a half-circle, the ends of 
which braced themselves in the cliffs, not side- 
ways, but frontways, so that the impression 
which Bobby received was that the dam would 
push both cliffs out of the way before it would 
give way itself. 

It was a good deal higher than a house, and 
upon its summit a little stone house was perched 
— a watch-tower, Bobby thought. Nestling 
under its shadow were several buildings of the 
same white granite, immaculately neat, and 
flying the Stars and Stripes. 

“Them’s the power-houses,” Luke explained. 
“When the water’s let to run through the spill- 
way in the dam, it generates power, and while 
it’s flowin’ down th’ valley to irrigate the 
farms, the power’s chasin’ ’long the wires to 
light up Phoenix and chore around and make 
itself useful.” 

The captain was already beset by innumer- 
able people, and there was a general air of bustle 
at his arrival. 

“Bob,” said he, hurriedly, “I’m going to 
leave you to Mr. Merrick. He’ll take you up 
to the commissary; then you can look around 
and get your bearings. Come into the office 
first thing in the morning.” 

In another half-minute he had disappeared 
100 


HISTORY, GEOGRAPHY 

into one of the power-houses, a clamoring group 
after him, and other men came down the stone 
stairway leading from the summit of the dam, 
demanding to know if the captain had come 
and where he was. Some of them wore khaki 
suits, some wore overalls, and one carried a big 
blue-print map. This general air of bustle and 
importance increased Bobby’s admiration of the 
captain, but he felt a little twinge of boyish 
jealousy that his patron should so promptly 
have deserted him. 

Luke led the way up the stone stairway to 
the top of the dam, where there was a yet unfin- 
ished stone coping. Scarcely had they reached 
the summit when a bugle sounded, its attenuated 
final strain echoing from the great cliffs. 

'^They’ll be lowerin’ the eolors,” said Luke, 
pulling off his big-brimmed hat. Bobby re- 
moved his own, and as they stood bareheaded 
the flag on the aerial wateh-tower came down. 

It was very still. Bobby looked up through 
the vast, rugged valley, which was fast wrapping 
itself in shadow. The waters of the giant 
reservoir washed against the foot of the dam 
and extended far up through the big gorge, 
but as yet scarcely more than covered the floor 
of their mammoth prison, and here and there 
little islands and points of rock were visible. 


lOI 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


On the sloping left-hand shore were some two- 
score of pretty trellised bungalows, and near 
them, on a steep slope, a white structure with 
smoke-stacks which looked as if it were in 
danger of tumbling down into the valley. 

‘‘That’s Contractors’ Camp,” said Luke; 
‘‘and that’s the cement-mill.” 

“Isn’t Uncle Sam doing all the work?” asked 
Bobby. 

“Well, I reckon. But he’s got contractors 
helpin’ him. Them contractors’ boys is a lively 
lot. They’re goin’ to get beat, though, when 
they tackle the Phoenix team. Now, up there 
on the other side is what you're after — straight 
Uncle Sam.” 

“That’s what I like best,” said Bobby. “I 
wonder — do you think I'll be straight Uncle 
Sam?” 

“Sure enough — straight as the cap’n himself; 
cut out the middleman. That suit you?” 

Some thousand or more feet distant, on the 
leveler reaches of the right-hand side of the 
valley, Bobby saw tents and bungalows and 
romantic-looking log cabins. 

“That’s the commissary,” said Luke, point- 
ing, “and that’s the hospital, and that’s the 
office, where you’ll go in the morning. That 
big tent’s the mess-tent.” 


102 


HISTORY, GEOGRAPHY 

Bobby stared, speechless, at the scene before 
him, which fulfilled every dream of roughing it 
and camp life. There, perched in bird’s-eye 
view upon the slope of the great valley with the 
growing lake beneath it and the wild country 
beyond, a full day’s journey from civilization, 
stood the town of Roosevelt, the home of Uncle 
Sam’s workers, called into being by this colossal 
“project” and destined to vanish when the 
work was done. 

The discernment which had prompted Cap- 
tain Craig to bring Bobby west with him was 
not at fault. The boy who had wearily climbed 
the cellar stairs that day to tell his uncle of his 
“idea” was indeed an engineer “in the chrysalis 
stage,” and the bird’s-eye view which he had 
gained, first of Salt River Valley, and now of the 
vast water-storage site, enabled him to compre- 
hend something of the whole colossal reclamation 
enterprise which Uncle Sam had undertaken. 

Nature, to be sure, had helped by placing 
there among the rocky hills this great valley 
with its narow outlet and the frowning cliffs 
on either side. Winding through the valley 
came the river, carrying, as it had always carried, 
its uncertain and often scanty contribution of 
life-giving moisture to the settled lands half a 
hundred miles distant. In the summer-time 
103 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


its supply had often petered out, and the dry 
land had lain parching under the merciless sun, 
the crops withering. Now its waters were be- 
ginning to pile up above the dam, to be kept in 
this mighty prison among the everlasting hills, 
to be doled out as needed, to be held back in 
flood-time and distributed through devious and 
intricate channels far away in the dreaded time 
of drought. 

As Bobby looked there came to his mind the 
memory of that last day in school. 

Arizona has a hot, dry climate. Rains are in- 
frequent and the land is parched and barren. 
The sage-brush grows profusely. The swi's heat 
is intense and almost continuous. . . . The capital 
is Phoenix. . . . Farming is unsuccessful by reason 
of the lack of rainfall. 

And here he was actually in Arizona, where he 
had sullenly announced that he would like to 
be, and he was going to help give the parched 
land a drink of water. 

He was roused from his thoughts by Luke’s 
voice. '‘Want to go down? Gettin’ hungry?” 

"No, I’m not hungry. I was, kind of, but 
I’m not now. Sometimes when I’m interested 
in a thing I get so as I’m not hungry — ^just from 
thinking about the thing. Is it ever that way 
with you, kind of?” 

104 


HISTORY, GEOGRAPHY 

Luke was a little puzzled. ^‘No, I can't say 
as 'tis,” he confessed. 

'‘The river is what you'd call tame water, isn't 
it?" said Bobby. "And the wild water is what 
comes down in other places — through the cracks, 
like?" 

"Some on it comes all the way from the 
Rocky Mountains — tricklin' and droppin'." 

"And now it will be used?" said Bobby. 

"That's what it will." 

There was a pause. 

"What's that big thing down there in the 
lake?" Bobby asked. 

"That's a suction-dredge, son; sucks the mud 
right up — what the engineers call silt — and 
chucks it off yonder somewheres." 

Another pause. 

"I guess maybe it comes from erosion, that 
mud. I suppose the river brings it down, 
especially if there aren't any trees where 
the water comes from. That's what the 
captain said — that the roots hold the earth 
together. I should think there ought to be 
lots of trees above a place like this, to keep 
the silt from coming down. Maybe that's 
what makes sand-bars and things in rivers — 
maybe." 

"Well, you got me'' said Luke. "It 'd have 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


to come a big ways. That’s a poser for the 
cap’n. You better ask him^ 

Bobby was silent. 

'‘Well,” said Luke, “leastways there’s plenty 
of trees up yonder. Uncle Sam’s got a big forest 
up there, and guards, young fellers like you, 
ridin’ their circuits and watchin’ out fer fires 
and spyin’ timber-thieves and insects and — ” 

“But the water ought not to bring the land 
with it, because it’s no good down here. Maybe 
that’s why they have to dredge out rivers. 
They had to dredge out our river at home — the 
Government did. Captain Craig says it’s better 
to prevent a thing; he says it’s sheer nonsense 
to wait till after it happens before you do any- 
thing.” 

Luke looked curiously at the boy who was 
leaning against the coping of the mammoth 
dam and gazing up through the great valley. 
He did not quite understand him. Again there 
was a pause. 

“This dam seems kind of like a company of 
soldiers,” said Bobby; “and all those big hills 
and rocks and cliffs and things like a mob, 
kind of. A company of soldiers can lick a big 
mob ’cause they know how. I was just think- 
ing the dam is like that. When I saw it ’way 
off I thought, at first, maybe it wasn’t strong 
io6 


HISTORY, GEOGRAPHY 

enough; but when you get near it it’s different; 
it’s made from ideas, and that’s what counts.” 

He was an engineer ^Tn the chrysalis stage,” 
all right. 

They went up to Roosevelt and stopped at 
the commissary building, where a man at a 
desk gave Bobby a book of mess coupons and 
assigned him to ‘'Survey Bungalow.” 

“You’ll find mostly geologic boys there,” ex- 
plained Luke, as they threaded their way 
among quaint little one-story shacks with here 
and there some larger structure. “Topograph- 
ic fellers, surveyors ’n’ rodmen ’n’ levelmen 
and such; it’s kept for the geologic boys, mostly, 
though there’s others there, too.” 

They paused at the door of Bobby’s new 
home for a few parting words. 

“Well, bub, here ye are,” drawled Luke, “’n’ 
now it’s up to you, as the feller says. You’ve 
got the cards in yer hand. Yer knuckle down 
and make good. Maybe you don’t realize what 
a short cut you’ve taken. Ye might have been 
two years gettin’ here if the cap’n hadn’t took 
a fancy to yer. You jest keep yer eyes ’n’ 
ears open; don’t be feared o’ gettin’ yer hands 
dirty, ’n’ remember who’s yer boss. I’ll tell you 
what the cap’n told me last night down to Mesa. 

8 107 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


He said he’s goin’ to get you broke in to the 
ditch work, so’s later — after a year or so, 
mebbe — ^you can come down as canal rider in 
the valley. Now there’s yer fortune read for 
ye. You mayn’t see me much, ’cause I got my 
ostriches down Tempe ’n’ my overseein’, but 
when I do drive up I’ll look in on yer. And by 
the time I have to knuckle down to water- 
masterin’ in earnest I’ll count on yer for a 
rider^ Meanwhile, you stick t’ the cap’n, if ye 
know what’s good for yer; don’t ever tell him a 
lie ; don’t ever talk to him when he’s busy, and 
if ye have an idee tell him it.” 

Bobby grasped the brown hand which Luke 
held out to him. “There’s one thing I want to 
ask you,” he said. “It’s about those prehis- 
toric people. Did they really have ditches and 
— and things — tunnels — for irrigating? I can’t 
always tell if you’re jollying me, because you’re 
so kind of — funny. I don’t mind being jollied,” 
he added, frankly; “but for a special reason I’d 
like to know.” 

Luke Merrick looked down into Bobby’s 
frank, inquiring eyes. “Used to bein’ jollied, 
are ye?” 

“Yes, but I don’t mind it; because people can 
jolly you and still be friends with you. Lots 
of fellows jolly me.” 

io8 


HISTORY, GEOGRAPHY 

“Well, son,” said Luke, smiling, “you take 
my advice and don’t bother much ’bout them 
prehistorics. They was there, sure enough, and 
I’ll show you Gassy Grandy when you’re down 
t’ the valley. But the cap’n’s got no use for 
all these tales ye hear of sub-irrigation and the 
like. He’s thinkin’ ’bout Uncle Sam’s big job, 
an’ you’ll only queer yerself with him if you 
let yer mind run on fossile-huntin’. That was 
the trouble with the lad was doin’ the work you’ll 
probably do, and he was a likely youngster, too, 
otherwise. So you jest think ’bout what you 
got to do.” 

Bobby said he would, for, indeed, he realized 
himself that it would not augur well for him 
with the practical captain if he showed himself 
a dreamer. In plain fact, Captain Craig took 
no stock in most of the astonishing tales of 
former civilization in the historic valley. He 
admitted that there had been such a civiliza- 
tion and that was about all. He thought the 
people who came from the Smithsonian Institu- 
tion were a nuisance. 

And he used a piece of the ancient porous 
tiling for a rough plum-bob. 


X 


BOBBY HEARS OF RED THORNTON 

B OBBY'S room was small, but immaculately 
clean, containing a single iron bed, a plain 
table, a straight-backed chair, a rocking-chair, 
and a dresser. The floor was covered with a 
grass carpet. On the wall the sole embellish- 
ment was a framed notice which read: 

Loyalty to the Government is the keynote of 
success in the several branches of the Reclamation 
and Conservation Service, The workers are urged 
to give no information to representatives of the 
press, but to refer all such inquiries to the en- 
gineers in charge. Complaints in regard to meals 
and accommodations should be made to the Com- 
missary, 

Breakfast aty A, M. Lunch at i P,M, Supper 
at 7 to g P,M, 

Bobby had no complaints to make. As for 
giving out information, he would not think of 
doing such a thing — he made the resolve then 
and there. He was now an official of the 


no 


BOBBY HEARS OF THORNTON 

Government, and he hoped he realized the re- 
sponsibility. As far as he was concerned news- 
paper reporters, however persistent, should 
appeal in vain. He would be absolutely im- 
partial; he would treat all the newspapers alike. 
All the deep secrets of the Department of the 
Interior and the Department of Agriculture 
might be his, but he would not divulge them. 
He would send all such people to the captain. 
As for complaints about meals and accommoda- 
tions, why that must be just the Government’s 
way of poking fun at him. What complaints 
could there be with this tidy little room on the 
edge of that vast, wild valley, and the mess- 
tent hard by with Uncle Sam’s flag flying above 
it? The Black Ranger and Dan Dreadnaught 
had never known anything like this. What 
complaint could there be with that mighty dam 
down there guarding the outlet of this remote 
valley; with this goodly company of grimy, 
competent workers; this great, happy family; 
and with Apache Indians lolling in the back- 
ground? What complaint could there pos- 
sibly be? 

'‘Any fellow that complained would be crazy,” 
said Bobby. 

He felt as if he had suddenly been introduced 
into the delightful mystery of boarding-school 


III 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


life. He had read boarding-school stories of 
enviable youths who lived in rooms decorated 
with pennants, played football and baseball, 
suffered hazing and in turn hazed others, whose 
sanctiuns were mysterious retreats where mis- 
chievous plots were fomented and who appar- 
ently never had any lessons to do. The voices 
which he now heard down-stairs seemed to 
make these delightful pictures a reality. 

^‘Have you got my red necktie?” some one 
called. 

The person addressed called back that he 
had not, and that he wouldn’t take it for a 
gift. 

^‘Well, it’s blamed funny; it’s gone.” 

Maybe Dynamite Charlie’s using it for a 
blast flag,” some one suggested. 

”Did you see the new souvenir the captain 
brought?” some one else called. 

“That kid that was talking to Luke Mer- 
rick?” 

“Yup. Every time the captain goes East he 
brings back a new toy.” 

“Well, he can pick a winner, all right. I’ll 
say that for him.” 

“You don’t suppose that kid’s going to take 
Red’s place, do you?” 

“Looks that way.” 


II2 


BOBBY HEARS OF THORNTON 

'‘The cap can tell by the way a kid makes 
mud pies whether he’ll make an engineer.” 

“Going over to the concert at Contractors’ 
Camp?” 

“If I get that west quadrangle map lettered 
up, I am.” 

“Well, come on over to eats.” 

The last sentence reminded Bobby to stop 
listening and finish drying his face. Over in the 
mess-tent were half a dozen long boards, lined 
with the manual workers. Somewhat apart from 
these were two smaller boards around which 
were seated mostly young fellows, some in 
khaki, others in white duck. Bobby was given 
a seat among these, and they sized him up very 
promptly. 

“Hear about Corby on the Long Canal?” 
some one asked. “He’s raising square green 
.peas — can’t roll off your fork. Shows what ir- 
rigation will do.” 

“That’s nothing,” said another. “Walley, 
down in Glendale, is growing stuffed olives.” 

Bobby felt that they were trying him out, 
and he smiled his frank, half-bashful smile. 

“C. S.?’.’ some one asked him. 

“I — I don’t know what it means,” said Bobby. 

“Civil service.” 

“No, I’m not,” he said. 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


'‘You going to take Red Thornton’s place?” 

“I don’t know yet what I’m going to do.” 

“Seen anything of Red lately, Michigan?” 
some one asked. 

“Yes, he was knockin’ around the other day.” 

Bobby noticed that few of these fellows were 
called by their own names, but usually by the 
name of the State or town from which they 
came. He gathered that they were surveyors, 
draftsmen, and young engineers lately from 
college, engaged in detail work of more or less 
responsibility. His exclusion from their familiar 
shop-talk made him feel very green and rather 
ill at ease, but they addressed him pleasantly 
now and then, and manifested a disposition to 
jolly him, which he took in good part. Then 
and there he laid the foundation of his general 
popularity. He was rather curious about Red 
Thornton, who seemed to be the subject of 
rather sneering comment. 

In the morning he went to the office-building 
and was taken through a drafting-room, where 
blue-prints of the whole project decorated the 
rough board partition, and into a second room, 
where the captain and several other men sat at 
desks. Bobby supposed them to be engineers. 
A spectacled young fellow in khaki was talking 
with the captain. 

114 


BOBBY HEARS OF THORNTON 


“How’d you sleep, Bob?” 

“I was too excited, kind of, to sleep very 
good,” said Bobby, frankly. 

‘' Well, to-night you’ll be good and tired and 
you’ll sleep better,” the captain laughed. "This 
is Mack — Mr. MacConnell. He’s going to 
start you in. I’m going to send you out on the 
freshet diversion work, where you’ll pick up 
some knowledge and get acquainted with the 
country. Two of our best men started up there, 
and one — the one whose place you’re going to 
fill — ^would have made another; but he fell 
down. You’re down as L. H.,^ Bob — twenty- 
six dollars a month, and, of course, your living 
is furnished you. There’s just one thing I want 
to say. Washington doesn’t like the idea of 
carting a young fellow across the continent and 
putting him in the L. H. list — and they’re wait- 
ing for the chance to jump on me. Don’t give 
them the chance. That’s all.” 

He swung around and plunged into the work 
before him. 

Mack and Bobby started up through the 
valley, skirting the lake. Already the big 
dredge was uttering its diabolical clamor. Run- 

* Meaning Local Help, as distinguished from Civil Service men; 
one who is hired on the spot and receives small wages. Such help 
is usually temporary. 

1^5 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


ning from it a heavy pipe-line resting on pon- 
toons was carried to shore and disappeared 
over one of the lower ledges of rock. They 
passed some men who were drilling a large 
rock for blasting. 

“That’s Dynamite Charlie,” said Mack, as 
they passed. “Hello, Charlie!” 

All about men were busy. Some, with tran- 
sits over their shoulders and accompanied by 
others with rods and stakes, were starting out 
and greeted the pair as they passed, sometimes 
giving a curious glance at Bobby. One group 
of three or four carried a tent and duffel-bags, 
evidently bent on some work which would de- 
tain them overnight or longer. One stout 
little gentleman hurried along with a black 
box. 

“Morning, Mr. Thomas,” said Mack; then 
to Bobby: “He comes from the Bureau of 
Standards — tests bridges and things all over 
the country.” 

In the distance pigmy figures could be seen 
perched on cliffs and climbing the slopes. 

“That’s Williams of the Forestry Bureau,” 
said Mack; “and that’s Barney, who planned 
the emergency gates at Panama.” 

“What’s that white streak winding down 
around those cliffs?” Bobby asked. 

ii6 


BOBBY HEARS OF THORNTON 

‘‘That’s a concrete diversion — Thornton 
planned that.” 

A beaten path led them out of the bed of 
the valley, and as they climbed the slope Mack 
continued to point out things of interest. 
Soon they stopped at a little shack, from which 
Bobby had a fine view of the valley below, 
though they were by no means outside of it. 
Here there were tools, lanterns, and such things, 
and from these Mack selected an implement 
with a handle about as long as an ax and with 
a narrow metal end not unlike a hoe. It had 
U. S. stamped on it, as indeed had almost every- 
thing which Bobby saw. 

“Now we’ll have to climb a bit,” said Mack. 
‘ ‘ When you start learning engineering you have 
to begin at the top and work down, as the cap- 
tain says.” 

“Who — who is Thornton?” Bobby asked, as 
they clambered up a pretty rough ascent. 

“Red Thornton? Oh, he’s the fellow who 
was here before you. He worked up and got 
so’s they let him plan trunk-lines and outlets. 
Red did some good diversion work up here — 
cut out a lot of sandy ground, and that’s what 
counts. Rock channel is what you’re after; 
remember that. I’ll show you.” 

“Was he — discharged?” 

117 


UNCLE SAM^S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


“Well, he was reduced, and then they let 
him out. He got to hanging round the mines 
and panning for gold and loafing down at 
Frazer’s. He was always knocking the Govern- 
ment. The captain says he was smart enough, 
but he got the notion of making a fortune in a 
hurry. That was his bug. A good many fall 
for that notion out here.” 

“I kind of don’t like the idea of taking the 
place of a fellow that’s discharged. It — it seems 
to me I’ll be thinking about it all the time.” 

“Don’t let that worry you,” said Mack. 
“He got what was coming to him. You won’t 
hear any one in camp wasting any sympathy 
on him. We’ve no use for that sort. If a 
fellow gets into Sediment Camp it’s his own 
fault.” 

“What camp?” said Bobby. 

“Sediment Camp. It’s just a name for those 
who drop the service or are dropped and hang 
around. Usually they haven’t got money enough 
to get home. They’re a kind of sediment.” 

Bobby thought it was a pretty sad name. 

“I wouldn’t exactly say that Red was 
crooked,” Mack continued; “but he had a vein 
of it, as the miners say. He took photographs 
of Casa Grande and sold them, and he made a 
survey for the miners on the q. t. Uncle Sam 

ii8 


BOBBY HEARS OF THORNTON 

doesn't let you do outside work. Red had every 
chance in the world; he served in topographic 
work with the Survey, and made the contours 
on all the north quadrangles in Montana, and 
he was booked for revetment work down the 
Missouri. Leighton said his main leads up 
here where scientific, and so they are." 

"Who's Leighton?" Bobby asked. 

"Oh, he's one of the big engineers; he de- 
signed the spillway." 

"It makes it seem worse because he was 
smart, don't you think so?" said Bobby. "Gee! 
I'll never be able to do that work!" he added, 
with a twinge of apprehension. 

"Oh, you're not starting in on that, never 
fear; you're just getting the A B C of it. It 'll 
be a year before you're on construction. This is 
just coaxing, you're on. You begin by coaxing 
water and you end by browbeating it — like the 
captain does." 

Bobby felt reassured. "The captain told 
me about loyalty to the service," he said. 
"Maybe he was thinking of Thornton, then — 
hey?" 

"Like enough. The captain's got no use for 
Red at all. If you want to get the captain's goat 
talk about the ruins and the ancient civiliza- 
tion. Red sold some old pieces of junk to 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


tourists down at the project — said they were 
relics. When the captain heard that — good 
night! That was the end of Red. C. S. or 
no C. S., out he went. And don’t you waste 
your sympathy on him.” 

“I wonder if I’ll see him,” said Bobby. It 
was characteristic of his modesty that he should 
rather dread a meeting with this fellow whom 
he was to supplant. 

'‘Oh, sure you’ll see him. He’ll blow in with 
the next tornado. He was down in Mesa last 
I heard.” 

It was all very well to tell Bobby not to 
waste sympathy on this young man whose star 
had declined; but he did waste sympathy on 
him, for that was Bobby. His enthusiasm was 
shadowed a little by this other side of the noble 
picture of Uncle Sam, wonder-worker. He had 
never supposed that there was another side — 
where people left and were discharged and 
knocked the Government and became ne’er-do- 
wells and derelicts on the project. Sediment 
Camp! What a name. Well, it would only 
* make him the more loyal, the more faithful. 

After a tramp of ten or fifteen minutes they 
came upon a little trickle of water falling among 
rocks. 

“Here weare,” said Mack. “Now just remem- 

I2Q 


BOBBY HEARS OF THORNTON 


her that if all there was to be done was dig a 
ditch for this water they’d send a Swede or a 
Dago up here to do it. If you follow this trickle 
down for a mile or so you’ll find it fiows into 
that concrete trench. Now, what you’re going 
to do is to make its path easy for it. This isn’t 
radical diversion, like they’re doing over on the 
west slopes. It’s what we call up-stairs work 
— making beds.” 

”I get you,” said Bobby. 

”Now, let’s follow this down. You see for 
the first few yards there’s nothing to do, and 
you don’t want to be rooting into the stream- 
bed with your lifter just because you happen to 
have it handy, and you don’t want to try any 
out-and-out diversion unless there’s some good 
reason for it. Just remember the captain will al- 
ways ask you for your reason — every single time.” 

Bobby followed him along, watching and 
listening intently. 

“Now, here’s a bend and a rock. See how 
she goes to the left of the rock and plows her 
way through the soil? Now let’s move the 
rock a little.” He edged the hoe-like implement 
under the rock and pulled it three or four feet. 
“Now, you see, the stream runs off to the right 
there, and tumbles down that rocky crevice. 
And that’s so much less — ” 


I2I 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


'‘Less silt for the dredge to pump out,” 
Bobby interrupted, with a sudden inspiration. 

“That’s the idea,” said Mack. “Now let 
me tell you something. Get a short cut when- 
ever you can. One thing that will make you 
feel cheap is when the captain comes up here and 
shows you where you might have saved twenty 
yards. ‘ Use your brain, not your lifter.’ That’s 
what he’ll tell you. Oh, I’ve got the captain’s 
number. He’s a fiend at it.” 

Bobby laughed. 

“But remember this, too. A mile of rock is 
better than ten yards of soil, so go after the 
rock channel every trip.” 

They followed the little stream down for some 
distance, Bobby removing obstacles and essay- 
ing improvements in its course. 

“Here’s where it makes a sharp bend,” said 
he. “Won’t it jump its traces there some day, 
maybe? I heard the captain use that ex- 
pression,” he added, apologetically. 

“Good for you,” said Mack; “so we’ll do it 
for him; we’ll make a cut-off. Just drag your 
lifter through here and cut off the bend. Now 
she’ll flow easier — see? Sometimes when the 
Old Lady does that of her own accord the people 
in a village wake up and find that instead of 
the river passing their door it’s a mile away.” 


122 


BOBBY HEARS OF THORNTON 


^‘Who’s the Old Lady?’’ 

'‘The Mississippi. You’ll never hear the 
service boys call her anything but the Old 
Lady.” 

Thus they followed the stream in all its 
windings, defining its bed more clearly for it, 
showing it the path of least resistance (for little 
streams have to be taught this, just as a kitten 
must have its face dipped in the milk), and 
leading it among rocks whenever possible. 
Sometimes they would stop and consider what 
to do. Bobby liked Mack, and was not afraid 
to make a suggestion now and then — usually 
a good one. At last they reached the con- 
crete trench at a point not far up the slope 
from the prospective high-water mark of the 
reservoir. 

“Now,” said Mack, “you follow the trench 
up to where the next trickle comes into it 
and then follow the trickle till it’s as small 
as this one was where we started, and then 
come down. Don’t be afraid. If you should 
make a mistake the dam won’t break; but 
use your judgment — first your brain, then 
your lifter, as the captain says. You can 
get down to mess for lunch to - day, but 
when you take the freshet -beds farther up 
you’ll have to take your grub — you might 

9 123 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

even have to bivouac now and then. Ain’t 
afraid to sleep outdoors, are you? And 
don’t forget to get a pocket compass in the 
commissary.” 

Mack left him, and Bobby started up the 
trench for his little game of solitaire with the 
stream above. He found the work fascinating. 
He was but an infinitesimal part of the great 
project, and the territory in which he worked 
but an infinitesimal section of the vast country 
which the engineers had to consider; but al- 
ready his small responsibility acted like a tonic 
on him; his imagination took flight, and he 
fancied himself a little lord of creation up there 
on his lonely slope, with the great storage site 
beneath him. 

At dinner-time, when the distant bugle sound- 
ed, he went down to mess and laughed good- 
naturedly when Michigan called over to 
Dynamite Charlie at one of the long tables, 
and asked him if he had heard anything about 
the farmers down below raising tearless onions. 
Dynamite Charlie said he hadn’t, but that 
he understood when distribution began in ear- 
nest the farmers east of Tempe were going to 
raise macaroni extensively. 

Bobby knew well enough that this was in- 
tended for him, and he laughed when the fel- 
124 


BOBBY HEARS OF THORNTON 


lows winked at one another, and stood for no 
end of jollying. 

A fellow who has charge of the ‘‘diversion 
work’' up on the Forest Slope Section can afford 
to be amiable. 


XI 


AN ACCIDENT 

T hey called it Forest Slope because if you 
followed it far enough away from the stor- 
age site you would come into an arm of national 
forest, the somber border of which was visible in 
the distance even from where Bobby worked. 

He often paused and looked up that way, 
wondering what the wilderness was like and 
what the lives must be of those who lived amid 
its dim recesses. Occasionally it sent him some 
token of itself, a leaf or broken twig, carried 
down along the devious way of one or other of 
these tiny tributaries. Bobby had learned to 
distinguish '‘forest water’' by its coolness and 
by the scantiness and character of the silt which 
it bore. 

He had never supposed that there were more 
than two kinds of water — salt water and fresh 
water — but he learned from Macl^ a half-dozen 
different kinds distinguishable by Uncle Sam’s 
geologists and engineers. He knew the “ stranger 
126 


AN ACCIDENT 


water,” as they called it, which had been di- 
verted through a defile in the Rockies, lured 
from the source of some easterly flowing stream 
away from its natural watershed and brought 
through mountain fastness and deep ravine for 
use in the Salt River Valley. He could tell the 
Rocky Mountain water when he tasted it or 
felt of it. He knew the ‘tableland water” and 
the brakish subsoil water. He came to dis- 
tinguish by instinct. 

Occasionally Captain Craig made him a fly- 
ing visit, and usually showed him where the 
wild water had stolen a march on him. He was 
always cordial and apparently satisfied, though 
usually in a great hurry. Of Luke Merrick 
Bobby saw nothing, and he often wondered 
about him and whether he drove up often from 
his valley. Sometimes the talk which he had 
overheard that first night in the wagon at 
Mesa recurred to him, and it troubled him a 
little to feel that some one was plotting to 
swindle the Government. At first he had 
thought that he ought to tell the captain about 
it, or, at least, Luke Merrick, but in the prosaic 
light of day the talk of the two men seemed to 
lose much of its significance. After all, he had 
been half asleep at the time, and the hints he 
had overheard justified only the very vaguest 
127 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


inferences. There was really nothing definite 
to tell, and the captain would probably take no 
stock in it, anyway. 

One thing did stick in his memory, and that 
was the tunnel mentioned by the strangers. 
He could not disassociate it with Luke Merrick’s 
mention of ancient underground ruins, though 
not for worlds would he have mentioned those 
ancient irrigators to the captain. He would 
leave them to the Smithsonian people, to whom 
they belonged. But he wondered about the 
tunnel, just the same. 

One evening he drove a topographic Stake in 
the ground far up beyond the second ledge of 
Forest Slope and trudged, weary and dirty, 
down to Roosevelt after the hardest day’s work 
he had ever known. He would not go farther 
without bivouac equipment, and he intended 
to ask Mack whether he should go so equipped 
the next day and trace an elusive creek farther. 

'Ht’s forest water, all right,” he said, as he 
sank into the comfortable chair in Mack’s room 
in the draftsmen’s bungalow. ‘‘It’s some- 
thing new. I never saw it before, but I bet it’s 
a shoot.” ^ 

“Go as far as you like,” said Mack, “only 

^ Meaning a stream which has branched off suddenly from some 
larger stream. 


128 


AN ACCIDENT 


don’t get over the eastern shed. You’d come 
out at New Orleans.” 

Bobby laughed. “It isn’t stranger water,” 
said he. 

“You’re getting to be some fiend,” commented 
Mack; “the water can’t put anything over on 
you.” 

And, indeed, Bobby did know a good deal 
about it for a boy who had denounced water so. 

The next day he started out with provisions 
for one night. As he went along he marked 
with chalk the rocks which the laborers who 
came later must move. At last he came to a 
point where the stream was so small and the 
physical work so light that he could do it 
by himself, and he pressed on with his lifter, 
making easier the narrowing stream’s flow 
and putting it in the way of plowing a better 
and more permanent channel for itself. A 
little before dusk he lost it in a rocky crevice 
not a quarter of a mile from the edge of the 
forest. 

Looking down, he could see the reservoir site 
and the little lights of Roosevelt in the dis- 
tance, and the mighty dam was a mere dash of 
white among those dark, rugged hills. It was 
always so in a distant view ; the familiar, home- 
like details of the valley, the buildings, the mill, 
129 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


were unseen, and nothing apparent to the eye 
but the dam and the wilderness. 

Bobby made his way up through the. sparse 
tree growth into the forest, resolved to camp in 
its solitude and work back along another stream 
in the morning. Scarcely had he opened his 
duffel-bag and prepared to kindle his fire when 
a sound made him look up, and he saw a pony 
winding its way toward him among the trees. 
Its rider — a young fellow in a red shirt and cow- 
boy hat — ^was not even holding the reins. 

‘ ‘ Hello !’ ’ said Bobby, surprised. “ It ’s all right 
to camp here, isn’t it?” 

“All right enough to camp,” the stranger 
drawled in a mild, easy tone, “but I can’t let 
you start a fire. Who are you?” 

His manner was so gentle and his voice so 
soft, that he seemed to be a natural part of 
the wilderness, and to have acquired some of 
the calmness and quiet of the forest. 

“I’m working down at the reservoir,” Bobby 
said. “Doing some work on the small streams 
on the slope. I was going to camp all night 
and then work down. It’s — Is it all right to 
stay here?” 

“B’longs to you much as it b’longs to me.” 

“Are you a guard?” asked Bobby. 

“That’s what they call me. I hear them 
130 


AN ACCIDENT 


blasting down yonder,” he added; ''they must 
be getting along.” 

"The lake is rising,” said Bobby. "We're 
distributing a little already. I — didn't know 
it was against the rule to start a fire or I wouldn't 
have tried it. Gee; I wouldn't break a rule — 
especially because now I can see it's a good 
one.” 

"If you burn the trees it just means clogging 
the canals,” said the guard. 

"Sure it does,” said Bobby, glad to touch a 
familiar topic. "Cracky! I'd only be making 
extra work for myself, wouldn't I?” 

"You'll have to eat, though,” said the guard. 

"I don't mind not eating,” said Bobby; "I 
got some bacon; maybe I could eat it raw. 
Gee! I wouldn't break the rule.” 

"Better come along to my cabin,” said the 
guard, quietly. "Me and Grace is always glad 
to see folks. Ain't we, Gracie?” he added, strok- 
ing the pony. 

"It — it wouldn't be against the rule?” asked 
Bobby. 

"No, indeed; we got one visitor already.” 

Bobby was glad enough to go with him, and 
he followed as the pony, unguided, threaded its 
way through the forest till they came upon a 
clearing where stood a small cabin and a corral. 
131 


UNCLE SAM^S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


Outside was a flag-pole with the Stars and 
Stripes flying, and this the guard hauled down. 

Within the cabin it was very cozy. A young 
man was seated in one of the bunks with his 
knees drawn up, playing a harmonica. He was 
rather shabbily dressed in a pair of patched 
trousers and a faded gray flannel shirt. His 
seediness seemed to concern him little, how- 
ever, and he greeted Bobby cordially before the 
latter had so much as crossed the threshold 
with ‘'Hello, kiddo!’' and proceeded with his 
music without further notice of the new arrival. 
His face was thickly freckled and he had curly, 
glossy hair as red as a brick. These were the 
things which Bobby saw upon entering, but 
later as they talked his attention was riveted 
by the stranger’s eyes, which were gray and 
very vivacious, with a kind of dancing reckless- 
ness in them. 

“When you going to eat, Bentley?” the 
young man asked of the guard. 

“Soon as I can get it ready. This fellow 
comes from down Roosevelt; he’s workin’ on 
the slope. That was your specialty, wasn’t it? 
I don’t know what your name is,” he said, 
turning to Bobby, “but this is Mr. Thornton.” 

“You working up the streams?” Thornton 
asked. 


1.32 


AN ACCIDENT 


Bobby felt very ill at ease. He did not like 
to admit that he was even attempting the work 
which Red Thornton had skilfully carried so 
far. 

^‘It’s just the — the A B C of it,” he said. 
‘'Of course, I couldn’t plan a trench; ’tisn’t 
even regular diversion Vm doing.” 

“What were you going to do, start a fire?” 
the stranger asked, glancing at the duffel-bag. 

“Yes, but—” 

“Didn’t get away with it, hey? You should 
have waited another hour; then Bentley ’d have 
been in bed — wouldn’t you. Bent?” 

“I’d rather be here, anyway,” said Bobby. 

“You on auto leave?” 

“I don’t know what that is,” said Bobby. 

“Guess Bent can tell you,” the stranger 
laughed. “ It’s leave you give yourself . When 
I used to work up this far I’d always spend a 
day with Bent ’fore I worked down. Nobody 
knows the dif.” He began to play his har- 
monica. 

“Not with me,” said the guard. “Anybody 
can rest here. Don’t drag me into it.” 

“Bent’s all right,” said Thornton, “only he’s 
got patriotitis.” 

Bobby was not at all at home with this so- 
phisticated stranger. But Thornton was so 
133 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

offhand and pleasant that he could not dislike 
him. 

After they had eaten the simple meal which 
Bentley prepared, he and Thornton fell to play- 
ing checkers, while Bobby watched them. He 
was amused at the wry faces which Thornton 
made and greatly flattered when the latter 
winked at him, as he did whenever he got Bent- 
ley into a tight place. '‘Hey, kiddo?” he would 
say, and screw his face up with an exasperating 
look of triumph. 

He insisted on sleeping in a hammock under 
the trees, so that Bobby could have the extra 
bunk, and he blithely annoimced, winking at 
Bobby, that if he was cold in the night he would 
kindle a fire. 

In the morning Bentley went off on his cir- 
cuit, and Thornton volunteered to accompany 
Bobby down toward the lake and “put him 
next to a few tricks.” 

“Bent's a pretty good sketch,” said he; “he’s 
everybody’s friend.” 

• “I guess you kind of get so you feel friendly 
toward everybody when you live in the forest. 
Don’t you think so?” said Bobby. 

“You get to feel blamed lonely — it’s a good, 
long ways from Broadway. Bent’s dead and 
he don’t know it.” 


134 


AN ACCIDENT 


“I never saw Broadway,” said Bobby; ''but 
I like this better. Except I might like to look 
in the store windows. I like to look in store 
windows. Don’t you?” 

Thornton looked at him and laughed. 

"I heard about you,” said Bobby; "but, 
an3rway, I like you. And I couldn’t help being 
put on this work.” 

"Well, it ain’t for the Government I’m going 
to put you wise,” said Thornton. "I’m through 
with that bunch. I’m just hanging ’round now 
till I turn over a little deal. I know where 
there’s a negative well down Mesa way, and 
I’ll turn that into more money than you’ll make 
here in a year. It ’ll irrigate three or four farm 
units with something left over. There’s more 
money in knowledge than there is in shoveling 
dirt. I know whose farm it’s on. You’re 
young and innocent yet, kiddo.” 

Bobby felt very much so now. "What is a 
negative well?” he asked. 

"You know what an artesian well is, don’t 
you? Well, a negative well is an artesian well 
that doesn’t shoot up. You’ve got to bring it 
up with a hydrant, or a mill.” 

"And do you mean you’ll tell the farmer about 
it and get him to pay you money?” Bobby 
asked, a light beginning to dawn upon him, 

135 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


‘‘Soon as he gets here and I get a squint at 
him. The farm’s vacant now, but they’ll be 
flocking out by the hundreds soon — soon as dis- 
tribution begins in earnest. That’s all I’m 
waiting for.” 

‘‘There isn’t much skill in having a secret 
and selling it,” said Bobby. “You don’t feel 
as if you had done anything, kind of. If I 
knew as much as you do about engineering, 
gee! I’d stick to it — I would.” 

Thornton laughed. 

“If an artesian well is on a public land 
homestead,” Bobby asked, “wouldn’t it be the 
Government’s water, just the same as the 
storage water?” 

“Maybe, and maybe not; but this farm is 
private land and the water’s private water and 
can be used — used and sold. It ’ll wash six 
farms.” 

“Then they wouldn’t have to pay the Govern- 
ment, would they?” Bobby asked. 

“That’s what they wouldn’t. You hear talk 
about the Government charging rates for water 
just till the construction work is paid for, and 
then giving it free. And you hear about selling 
electric power to Phoenix so’s to cut down the 
water rates to the farmer. Oh, Uncle Sam is 
keen for the farmers — ^nit, not. Look at th§ 

136 


AN ACCIDENT 


bunch of them that^s been here two years, 
waiting for water; there’s dozens of them filed 
three years ago and the lake’s nothing but a big 
mud-puddle yet. You don’t suppose the Gov- 
ernment’s ever going to stop the rates, do you? 
These immigrants are easy. The Government 
wouldn’t let a man come out here and put up 
a claim shanty and file for water. No, he must 
come out and live and sit and wait. That’s 
the way the Government does things. He 
must start a home^ as they call it, even if he 
dies of dry rot. Take a man that’s got a hun- 
dred and sixty acres of land — or rather sand; 
sand and sage. Uncle Sam ’ll only sell him 
water for forty acres — maybe not that. He’s 
got to sell the rest ’cause he can’t get water for 
it. That’s what they call ‘homesteading’ — in- 
tensive farming — a lot of rot! That’s to make 
room for a lot of Swedes. There won’t be any 
people left in the New York tenements if this 
keeps up.” 

“I should think that would be good,” said 
Bobby. 

‘‘Good for nothing. Why, take this land 
I’m telling you about, south of Mesa. There’s 
two full units there — three hundred and twenty 
acres. Suppose the owners cut it up into forties, 
as they’ll have to do, because the Government 
137 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

won’t give any man more water than he needs 
to support his family. Home, Sweet Home idea. 
There’ll be eight farms, each paying four dollars 
an acre for water. Over a thousand dollars a 
year. And it ’ll never be less — take it from 
me! That little old negative well of mine is 
in one of those units, and my cue is. to see the 
new owner before he cuts it up into forties. 
He can irrigate his , whole hundred and sixty 
acres and keep it, and he can sell water to the 
other unit for one or two dollars — ^anyway, he 
can beat the Government’s price. Now just 
suppose I unload my little secret for five hun- 
dred bucks?” 

Bobby said nothing. Thornton was evident- 
ly well posted, and he was very convincing. 
Bobby could not answer these arguments. His 
reply was strong or weak, as you choose to view 
it, but it was very characteristic of him. 

'^Sometime,” he said, '‘Roosevelt is coming 
out here to dedicate the dam — ’cause it’s named 
after him. It’s the biggest dam that ever was. 
When you look at it far off it seems kind of 
lonely like. Once I knew a dam that couldn’t 
be trusted; it killed my uncle and my aunt. 
But this one looks as if it isn’t scared. Some 
men came all the way from Europe to see it. 
I asked Captain Craig what would happen if it 
138 


AN ACCIDENT 


broke, and he said, 'It won't break,' So when- 
ever I look at it I think, cracky! it can be 
trusted. When they get the coping all finished 
and the spillway working they’re going to have 
the dedication. Jiminy! it must be great to 
have a dam like that named after you. I’m 
going to be there when they dedicate it, that’s 
one sure thing. And I can say I helped. I — I 
think maybe I’d like to have my hands dirty, 
so as I can feel I helped. Maybe you don’t 
imderstand what I mean.” 

‘'You’ll have to wash your hands when Teddy 
comes,” Thornton laughed. 

“You can’t always explain what you mean,” 
said Bobby; “but if a big dam like that, way 
off in the mountains, can make it so that peo- 
ple far away don’t have to live in tenements 
any more, than I think it’s good.” 

They clambered down the upper ledges and 
for a few minutes neither spoke. 

“Well,” said Thornton, “you’ve got some 
imagination. You’re a queer kid. You’ll never 
be an engineer, though, if you let your imagina- 
tion run away with you.” 

“I know I’ll never make as good a one as 
you,” said Bobby. “I can see you know a lot.” 

“Well, don’t worry, kiddo. If I can pass 
you any tips you’re welcome to them.” 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

'‘There’s one thing I want to ask you,” said 
Bobby. “I guess you got a right to sell that — 
that secret. And just because I’d rather work 
and get money that way isn’t saying a fellow 
hasn’t got a right. I think it’s fun working — 
for Uncle Sam. Only there’s one thing I was 
thinking about. Would that water be as good 
as the storage water?” 

“Better — it would have soil richness.” 

“’Cause it would be different, and I won- 
dered if it would be as good.” 

“What makes you think it would be differ- 
ent?” Thornton asked, eying him closely. 

“’Cause it would; I could tell the difference. 
I couldn’t tell if it would be better ’cause I 
don’t know anything about farming — ^yet. I 
haven’t been in the valley except to Mesa. 
But I could tell the difference.” 

Thornton stopped short and stared at him, 
and his eyes were so brilliant and penetrating, 
with a momentary suspense, that Bobby felt 
quite uncomfortable. 

“No, you couldn’t,” said Thornton. 

“Yes, I could,” Bobby answered. 

He walked along at Thornton’s side, and fol- 
lowed him as he clambered down the steep, 
rocky ways until they rooted out a little trickle 

140 


AN ACCIDENT 


of water. Much of the time Thornton seemed 
preoccupied, and at other times he made cyni- 
cal remarks about the Government and sneering 
observations about its workers. These remarks 
annoyed Bobby, particularly as his companion 
seemed so well posted and it was impossible 
to answer him. He was nothing if not clever, 
and he showed Bobby how to pond a brook to 
prevent its flooding; carrying out in miniature 
the principle of the whole gigantic project. 
Whatever his grudge against the Government, 
he certainly cherished no resentment against 
Bobby, and the boy more than liked him — he 
was captivated by him. 

It was almost dark when they reached the 
border of the lake, one of those stretches of 
temporary shore inclosing an arm of the great 
body of water, formed as it spread and grew. 
The lights of Roosevelt shone on the slope be- 
yond. The cheerful illumination of the big 
mess-tent reminded Bobby that he had been 
away from it for two whole days, and he believed 
the merry company assembled there would 
jolly him the more because of his absence. He 
wondered where Red Thornton was going to 
eat and spend the night. 

The big dredge was moored on the opposite 
side of this bay, and its long train of huge 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


piping, resting on pontoons, extended across 
the water, disappearing beyond a minor hill. 
The dredge was running and sending its un- 
earthly din up into the quiet night. The roar 
of a lion is a whispering zephyr compared with 
the screech of a suction-dredge. The floating 
pipe-line vibrated in unison with the machin- 
ery, the pontoons rocking like boats. 

'‘Well,” said Thornton, “here you are, and 
just in time for eats. Think you can waltz 
along that line? That’s the way we used to 
do. Shorter than going round.” 

“Where are you going?” asked Bobby. 

“Me? Oh, nowhere in particular; down to 
Frazer’s, maybe.” 

“You couldn’t get there till midnight.” 

“Not by the road, but I can cut off ten or 
a dozen miles.” 

“Another secret?” Bobby asked. 

“I know the hills,” said Thornton. 

Bobby hesitated a moment. “Maybe you 
could come to my room with me, and I could 
bring you some supper, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ If — of course, 
it’s none of my business — ^but if you won’t get 
any money till you can sell that secret — ^maybe 
— anyway, I’ve got fifty dollars. It’s two 
twenty-dollar bills and a ten, and there’s no 
way to use it here. You can’t even buy a soda. 


AN ACCIDENT 


Maybe you’d like to have the ten, and when 
you sell your secret — ” 

Red clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. 
'‘You’re a little prince, kiddo, but don’t worry 
about me. Go over and fill up on your uncle. 
I can’t go over there, but you’re a brick. Don’t 
say you know me; it won’t help you any with 
that crew. And don’t mention the . secret, 
either; don’t say anything about it to any- 
body. I told you because — oh, just because 
you happen to strike me right.” 

Bobby picked up his duffel-bag. “Well, 
good-by — Red,” said he. 

“Good-by, sport, and don’t get to dreaming 
about dams and tenement-houses while you’re 
doing the tight-rope act. And don’t worry 
about me. You’re aces up, kiddo.” 

He watched Bobby as he stepped gingerly 
along the quivering pipe-line, his duffel-bag 
strapped on his back. Once he turned his 
head a little to look at Thornton. 

“Don’t turn; keep your eyes ahead,” the 
latter called. 

Bobby had gone but a few feet farther when 
he lost his balance, righted himself, lost it again, 
and went head over heels into the water. 

He was never fully conscious of what hap- 
pened immediately afterward. For a few sec- 
143 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


onds he was floundering in the water, sputter- 
ing, and trying vainly to clutch one of the 
pontoons. Then he went down, and there was 
a sensation of being drawn with terrible 
rapidity. His hands, grasping spasmodically, 
clutched stones and mud; then he was dragged, 
as it seemed, by some tremendous power against 
something hard and hollow, which he fought 
off with all the desperation of blind instinct. 
He was sideways against this awful thing, and 
its edges pressed and cut into his sides, and it 
bent him like a twig. There was a tremendous 
roaring, intermingled with a muffled rattling 
and clanging; things struck him in the face, 
and the merciless submarine monster kept 
bending him — bending him — 

Then, ’ suddenly, he was drawn sideways 
across these edges that were pressing him. As 
his feet passed by one there was a terrific 
wrenching and pulling at his legs; then sudden 
spasmodic jerks the other way. If his mind 
had been capable of thought he might have 
supposed himself contended for by two rival 
monsters, and being wrenched apart in the con- 
flict. . Then the awful pulling lessened— ceased 
— and he was breathing the free air. 

He lay on one of the pontoons all but un- 
conscious, his head , and clothing covered with 
144 



RED THORNTON RESCUES BOBBY 



AN ACCIDENT 


mud, his face bruised and bleeding, his side 
throbbing. He opened his eyes languidly, half 
consciously. Some one, covered with mud like 
himself, was seated astride him, and he felt 
the sharp pressure and release of the person’s 
hands below his ribs. 

'‘Take a long breath wnen I push — that’s 
right.” 

"Is— is it— Red?” 

"Yes, it’s me — Red. You were up against 
the suction-pipe, kiddo. Keep breathing. That’s 
right. Draw your breath when I let go my 
hands; that ’ll help.” 

He pressed cruelly, then released the pres- 
sure — steadily, regularly. Scout fashion. 

"I told you not to be thinking about Uncle 
Sam and dams and tenement -houses, didn’t I?” 

"I — I wasn’t. I was thinking about you,” 
said Bobby, weakly. 


XII 


WORK AND AN ADVENTURE 

T hey brought an army stretcher out on a 
rowboat and took him ashore to Uncle 
Sam’s little hospital. News of the accident 
spread like fire, and many, hiu-rying out from 
the mess-tent, followed the stretcher, asking 
what had happened to the kid. Women, stand- 
ing in the doorways of the married men’s quar- 
ters, gazed fearfully at the little procession, 
and some, elbowing their way through the 
throng, looked at the white, bespattered face 
and turned away shuddering. 

In five minutes it was noised about Roose- 
velt that the kid had been killed or was dying. 
Burly men who had jollied him waited silently 
in the trellised portico of the hospital to hear 
the verdict of the army surgeons. The mess- 
tent was deserted, with suppers left unfinished. 
The “kid” did not know of all this, and he 
would not have understood if he had known. 
Once, while they were carrying him along, he 
146 


WORK AND AN ADVENTURE 


opened his eyes and said to Mack, who was 
close beside him, “You can't say he isn’t a 
hero, anyway.” 

Later, when the nurse asked him if he were 
suffering any pain, he answered that he was, 
but that he could “think about the dam and 
the dedication and forget it, kind of.” 

The contour squad of the topographic branch 
didn’t go over to beat the Contractors’ Camp 
boys at basket-ball as they had intended to do, 
but lingered about with the others, waiting 
and talking about the kid, and asking what 
Roosevelt would seem like without him. 

“He was so gol-blamed honest, you could see 
it stickin’ out all over him,” said one of the men 
from the dredge. “I’d laugh to hear him talk, 
and then hanged if I wouldn’t be kind of 
ashamed for laughin’.” 

If Bobby could have seen the crowd outside 
— surveyors, levelmen, draftsmen, under-engi- 
neers, laborers — he might have thought that 
the great dedication was indeed at hand. 

No one expressed any surprise that Red 
Thornton had dived into the very jaws of the 
great suction-pipe, for that was Red Thornton 
all over, and none were disposed to question 
his recklessness or his bravery. He was as 
hard of comprehension in many ways as Bobby 
147 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


himself, and the horrible death which he had 
challenged was hardly realized in its full sig- 
nificance until the excitement following the 
affair was over. Some said he was crazy. 

What people did express surprise at was that 
Bobby had been in his company, and since the 
boy had been absent from camp for two days 
they wondered how long he had been with 
Thornton. 

Bobby’s injuries were serious, but not grave. 
Besides his cuts and bruises and the terrific 
shock he had sustained, one of his ribs had 
been broken and his convalescence was slow 
and painful. He bore his suffering with the 
same stoical patience that he had shown when- 
ever his uncle had whipped him, and his long 
periods of silence interspersed with odd ques- 
tions sometimes puzzled and sometimes amused 
his attendants. Once, after a long silence, he 
said: think Uncle Sam is right not to let 

anybody have too much water, so as to make 
them not have too much land, because then 
more people will come and have farms.” 

^‘That’s what Uncle Sam wants,” the nurse 
told him. 

He was silent for a while, and then said, '‘I 
think Red is wrong, but that isn’t saying he 
isn’t a hero.” 


148 


WORK AND AN ADVENTURE 

Once he asked when the dedication would 
take place, and when he was told it would be 
in the spring, he said, “Maybe the Government 
will be kind of mad, maybe, because I got hurt, 
and I’ll have to go home and I’ll miss the 
dedication.” He seemed greatly relieved when 
they told him that was not likely to happen. 

Often the captain dropped in to see him; 
Mack stopped each night on his way home, and 
sometimes Michigan, who usually had some 
atrocious tale of the valley, of ostriches which 
sat on pumpkins, supposing them to be their 
own eggs, and hatched out pumpkin pies, or of 
the enterprising ostrich farmers of Glendale 
who were planting ostrich feathers and raising 
spring hats. 

But the visit he enjoyed most of all was that 
of Luke Merrick, who came up from Mesa with 
a load of commissary stores. He sat down, 
causing the cot to creak with his huge bulk, and 
it was a tonic to Bobby just to look at him. 

“Well,” he drawled, “when yer cornin’ down 
valley? Things is sprucin’ up down there now. 
You boys sent us water enough fer three cuttin’s 
o’ alfalfa this season, ’n’ it ’ll be five next season 
— if the dam don’t bust. Yer mustn’t bust no 
more ribs.” 

Bobby said he wouldn’t. 

149 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


“Yer wouldn’t know things round Mesa; 
all that land south o’ the station’s been re- 
claimed. Outside Phoenix we got more ’n fifty- 
three miles o’ new laterals. Both the main 
canals is runnin’ ’bout a third full. Ain’t so 
bad, hey?” 

'‘Are there many new people coming?” Bobby 
asked. 

"Standin’ on line at the office. I don’t 
know what’s goin’ t’ become o’ Noo York ’n’ 
Chicago if ’t keeps up. Why, Phoenix is got 
growin’-pains, it’s spreadin’ so fast. Well, she’s 
got a big plain to spread in — nothin’ ter stop 
her. Fust thing you know, she’ll bunk her 
nose against Tempe.” 

Bobby thought that was fine. 

"Next spring,” said Luke, "I'm goin’ ter hire 
me a man to look after my little forty ^ ’n’ 
watch out for the ostriches, ’n’ I’ll take the 
reins in earnest. The Water Users’ Association 
has elected me, ’n’ Uncle Sam’s O. K.’d me, 
so I reckon it’s all right. I’m goin’ ter put you 
on the south ditch, and you’ll have ter sleep 
with one eye on the sluice - gates. They’re 
growin’ lemons down that way, and they’ll 
want lots o’ water — for lemonade, I reckon. 
They’re startin’ beet -sugar along there, too, 

^ A forty-acre farm. 

150 


WORK AND AN ADVENTURE 

to be handy. You remember them farm tracts 
south o' Tempe you seen on the way up? Uncle 
Sam’s got an experiment farm started there — 
growin’ dates. Ellerton and that crowd is 
goin’ in fer grape-fruits — grape-fruits and navy 
oranges.” 

Bobby was delighted with the picture painted 
by Luke. He imagined the land below, which 
had once been desert, flowing with milk and 
honey, and he longed to go down there and 
take a hand with the burly water - master. 
Luke’s visit did him a great deal of good. 

On those days of convalescence he often 
thought of Red, and wondered where he was. 
At first he had thought that Thornton would 
come and see him, but he came to realize that 
this would have been embarrassing for the 
latter, if not impossible. Sometimes he men- 
tioned him to others, but it troubled him and 
hurt him when they spoke unfavorably of Red, 
and advised him to shun his company, and he 
came at last to say nothing about him. 

In his new interests he almost forgot the 
strange talk which he had heard on the night 
of his arrival at Mesa, and if he did think of it 
now and then he almost believed that he must 
have dreamed it. 

After a while he was allowed to go back to his 
isi 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


own little room in the Survey Bungalow. This 
being on a Thursday, the doctors thought it 
best for him to wait until Monday before be- 
ginning work. During the period of idleness 
he wandered about in the great valley, watching 
parts of the work which he had not seen. The 
arm of water where he had met with his mis- 
hap had entirely disappeared, its shores being 
submerged. The half-dozen or so bungalows 
which constituted a sort of suburb of Roose- 
velt — ^and which they called Teddy ville — had 
been moved higher up the slope to make room 
for the spreading lake. 

Down at the dam the spillway was almost 
completed, one of the gigantic sluice-gates was 
open so that a little of the flood water might 
pass, and the vast growing lake lapped higher 
against the mighty dam. 

Bobby stood in the open doorway of one of 
the immaculate power-houses, fascinated by the 
steady movement of the great turbines, which 
made the heedless water yield its power as it 
passed to generate the current which should 
be sent miles and miles over the wild waste of 
country to light distant cities. That was 
Uncle Sam’s scheme for saving money for the 
farmers. 

“I don’t see what makes Red think the Gov- 
152 


WORK AND AN ADVENTURE 


eminent won’t stop the water rates some day,” 
Bobby mused. '‘Cracky! I bet if he saw those 
engines he’d think so.” His greatest hope 
seemed to be to set Red right about the Govern- 
ment. Bobby loved machinery, from the lathe 
in Bradley’s garage to these steel giants — he 
loved it all. He loved the oily smell and the 
sight of the moist, polished steel moving back 
and forth, and he envied the grimy men who 
rubbed it with cotton waste. The love of ma- 
chinery, like love of flowers, cannot be ac- 
quired — it is born in people. 

Here and there about the valley sloping areas 
of soft land had been faced with concrete, and 
every creek which poured its water and the 
water of its tiny tributaries into the great lake 
had its concrete delta, so that the whole valley 
was besprinkled with little dots of spotless 
white, contrasting oddly with the dull gray of 
the land. 

Soon, thought Bobby, there would be noth- 
ing there but the big storage lake and the dam 
and the power-houses, and one or two bunga- 
lows to accommodate the small permanent force. 
It would seem like a frontier post, with just 
those things and Uncle Sam’s banner waving. 
“I don’t know what ever made me think that 
engineers don’t fight,” he mused. “I sure don’t.” 
153 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

Roosevelt, to be sure, would disappear, but 
Phoenix and Mesa and Tempe and Glendale 
would drink their fill of water and become 
great in the world. 

On Sunday night Bobby went over to Con- 
tractors’ Camp to the gospel service, and scarce- 
ly had he entered his room on his return 
when Tom Bonny, alias Michigan, blew in and 
laid down in the corner a curious apparatus 
which looked to Bobby like a toy aeroplane 
with an attachment similar to the electric vibra- 
tors and massage instruments that he had seen 
in the East. 

“Hurry to go to bed? How you think you 
feel?” 

“Fine,” said Bobby, “only I get a kink in my 
side once in a while.” 

“Good,” said Michigan. “What you want 
is a course of treatment from old reliable Doctor 
Bonny. The captain and Leighton told me to 
take your case, so here I am. How’s your 
appetite?” 

“ My appetite is all right,” said Bobby, a little 
annoyed, “and I’m going back to work to- 
morrow morning, and I don’t want to be 
rubbed and vibrated with that thing. I’m 
all right.”. 

■ “Sleep ,airright?” 


154 


WORK AND AN ADVENTURE 


“Sure.’^ 

'‘Ever fall asleep without knowing it?’* 

“Sure.” 

“That’s a bad sign. It’s a question whether 
you’ll live for the dedication.” 

“I’m all right if they’d let me alone,” said 
Bobby. “What is that thing?” 

“It’s a machine for measuring patriotism. If 
you can use that steady every day for a month 
and not go daffy, Uncle Sam’s got you.” 

“What is it, Michigan?” 

“It’s a current - whed, which is Latin for 
water-meter.” 

“Oh.” 

“Tonto Creek is going to make her affidavit, 
and we want you to take it down. How about 
you? The captain and Leighton and Doc 
Morris think you better not strain yourself yet 
awhile, so they suggested I put you in the 
crow’s-nest and let you measure stream velocity. 
I told them you were just the cheese, because 
you’re small and don’t weigh much. What 
d’ye say — willing to die for your country?” 

“As long as I can go back to work — ” 

“This is high-brow work, take it from me; 
it’s the real thing. Are you with us?” 

“Sure.” 

“All right, then. Meet me at North foot- 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


bridge at eight and bring that thing with 
you.” 

He disappeared as informally as he had come 
in, and Bobby felt as if a cool breeze had passed 
over him. 

When he examined the instrument more close- 
ly he saw that it consisted of a tiny metal 
paddle-wheel, whose paddles were in the shape 
of cups, with a four- winged rudder to hold it 
steady in the water and a weight to keep it 
in the right position. A long coil of twisted 
wire was attached to it. Connected with the 
axis of the little paddle was a simple make-and- 
break device which opened and closed the elec- 
tric current fiurnished by a couple of dry cells 
attached to the other end of the wire. Fastened 
to the battery-box ^y^s a little buzzer, and it 
needed only a few moments’ study for Bobby 
to discover that every revolution of the little 
paddle-wheel was accompanied by a quick, short 
buzz at the other end of the wire. By keeping 
count of them and using a watch, the operator 
could readily determine the number of revolu- 
tions per minute, though how this would en- 
lighten him as to the stream’s velocity Bobby 
did not know. 

The chief contributor to the reservoir, next 
to Salt River, was Tonto Creek, and it was to 
156 


WORK AND AN ADVENTURE 


ascertain the speed of Tonto Creek in the minor 
autumn floods that Tom Bonny and a couple of 
the hydrographic boys were now going to follow 
it in its winding course above the valley. 

Bobby did not see why it should take very 
much time to measure the velocity of a stream — 
any more time, indeed, than it took to lower the 
meter into the creek and note the result. But 
he was soon to learn that this new work was 
slow and tedious, though interesting and with 
an element of adventure. 

Michigan and two other fellows were waiting 
for him in the morning with a wheelbarrow 
containing a coil of rope, some hemp, pulleys, 
turnbuckles, and something which looked to 
Bobby like a packing-case taken apart. 

''I know something about that already,’’ said 
he, ‘‘because I know about the make-and- 
break system; but how do you tell?” 

“Well,” said Michigan, “four revolutions a 
second is equal to a speed of seven feet per 
second. How’s that strike you?” 

“ Do you have to drop it in more than once?” 
asked Bobby, as they made their way up the 
creek. 

“You have to drop it in about ’steen million 
times.” 

“I don’t see why,” said Bobby. 

157 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


“Because the water’s got all kinds of differ- 
ent speeds in it. Ever hear of fluctuating quan- 
tities?” 

Bobby had not. 

“Well, then you’ve missed half your life; I 
could just live on fluctuating quantities. You 
see, it’s this way, kid, a river doesn’t move like 
a train of cars, all at the same speed. Some of 
it goes fast and some of it goes slow and some 
of it tangoes around. In toward shore it goes 
slow; out in The middle it goes fast. It flows 
faster on the top than it does at the bottom. 
Now what are you going to do about it?” 

Bobby said he didn’t know that there was 
anything he could do about it. 

“So we take her measure every few feet, 
near the bottom, near the top, near shore, at 
the bend; then do some arithmetic and there 
you are. All we’re after now is an average. If 
she’ll give us a general idea we’ll be satisfied 
till spring — hey?” 

Bobby thought that would be all right. 

They stopped at a part of the creek where 
there was a boat moored and a stake driven 
into the shore. There also were some rough 
beams. Two of these they raised in tripod 
form from the ground, adjusting them by a 
brace and a rope, which they tied to a stake in 
158 


WORK AND AN ADVENTURE 


the ground. Two of the boys rowed across 
the creek, taking an end of wire cable with 
them, and raised a similar support on the oppo- 
site bank. From one to the other of these the 
cable was brought taut, and the whole thing 
looked to Bobby exceedingly like the apparatus 
erected for a tight-rope walker. Next they 
fitted and clamped together the several parts 
of the box and Bobby saw that it was a little 
car with pulleys above it, which rolled back 
and forth across the stream, moved by a rope 
to either shore. 

In this Bobby stood, lowering the meter into 
the water at points about a yard apart, once 
just below the surface, then just above the 
bottom, and so on as they moved the little car 
across the stream. The work was very in- 
teresting and the sensation of being suspended 
on the yielding cable above the rapid-flowing 
creek was delightful. He kept his watch in 
one hand, timing the buzzer and calling the 
results to Michigan, who wrote them down. 

Whenever he had crossed the stream he got 
out of the car, and without disturbing the ap- 
paratus they moved it to a point where the 
stream was narrower or wider or made a bend, 
or where its geography gave reason for sus- 
pecting a different velocity of current. 

159 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


Sometimes, having started Bobby on a fresh 
trip across and adjusted the rope so that he 
could move the car himself, the crew would go 
forward, exploring the creek, making soundings, 
and selecting places where the apparatus should 
next be placed. At such times Bobby would 
note down his own findings. 

It was at one of these times that he met with 
a wholly novel adventure which gave him quite 
a scare and might have sent him back to the 
hospital. He was on one of his trips across the 
creek, and was holding the meter in the water. 
When he pulled it up it was unusually heavy, 
and he saw that something muddy was attached 
to it. It was on the very edge of the car when 
the muddy object made a sluggish movement 
which showed it to be alive, and, losing all 
presence of mind, Bobby dropped the whole 
business into the bottom of the car. 

Instantly the creature opened its mouth and 
raised itself on its front legs in a ridiculous 
attitude of defiance at nobody in particular. 
It was a sort of lizard, nine or ten inches long, 
with a horrible, rough skin which looked as if 
it were covered with black beads, little beady 
eyes, and a great mouth with a kind of yellow- 
ish liquid around its edges. As soon as Bobby 
stirred it started around the bottom of the car 
i6o 


WORK AND AN ADVENTURE 


in an aimless, lumbering fashion, and, stopping, 
seemed about to spring. 

Bobby had not been in Arizona more than 
half a year without hearing of the awful Gila 
monster, and he was in a state of panic fright. 
Grasping the cable above the car, he lifted him- 
*self, resting his feet on its edges, and looked 
down at his unwelcome guest. The creature 
was as still as a statue, its fore legs stiffened 
up, its dreadful mouth gaping, its tail wriggling 
significantly. Bobby had heard that if one of 
these reptiles had something to brace its power- 
ful tail against it could make a most phenom- 
enal spring, and this one seemed now to be 
making a sort of blind exploration backward 
for this purpose. 

Bobby was no coward, but an encounter with 
one of these unspeakable reptiles — which were 
the subject of many extravagant tales — ^had 
never been anticipated in his most adventurous 
dreams, and, resolving that discretion was the 
better part of valor, he vacated the car com- 
pletely and hung by his two hands from the 
cable. Scarcely was he free of the car than he 
heard a rap and felt sure that the creature had 
either made its threatened spring or adminis- 
tered a rebuke to the car with its muscular tail. 

At all events, it still remained within and 
i6r 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


Bobby remained without, the cable cutting his 
hands cruelly. He realized now that he had 
by no means regained his full measure of 
strength. His head began to swim; his arms 
seemed pulling out of their sockets. He took 
out his handkerchief to make a pad for one 
hand, and nearly let go the other one while 
doing so. Then he tried to go hand over hand 
to shore, but could not. It required less ex- 
ertion to hang just where he was, so he did so, 
calling lustily for help. 

Below him the creek flowed rapidly in moder- 
ate flood and he knew that it was deep. Ever 
since his accident he had dreaded the water, 
and it gave him a sensation of faintness to see 
it flowing beneath him and to know that even 
a fairly good swimmer could hardly buck the 
current. Soon his unprotected hand began to 
bleed. Moreover, the insects which had pes- 
tered him all day, seeing him deprived of his 
two best weapons, instituted an assault and 
drove him distracted. He would have given 
all he possessed to swat his face with one fatal 
and resounding swat; but he dared not let go 
the cable. 

He looked at the car, some few yards dis- 
tant, and felt a sense of the preposterous un- 
reason of the thing; that this abhorrent crea- 
162 


WORK AND AN ADVENTURE 


ture should reign in silent possession of the car 
while he was hanging between life and death 
outside it. 

At last his friends came. It seeihed hours 
that he had hung there, and the most welcome 
sound he had ever heard was their voices as 
they came into view a couple of hundred feet 
distant. 

‘'There’s a thing in that car,” he said. 
“Hurry! I’m going to fall.” 

They were none too soon, for he fainted as 
soon as he dropped into the boat which one of 
the boys rowed out to him. 

“That makes one adventure under water and 
one above water,” said Michigan, as Bobby came 
to. “What’s the matter, couldn’t you and the 
lizard get along together?” 

As for the reptile, he had a ride as far as the 
shore, and there his career of glory ended. 
Michigan said he was a Gila, all right; the 
others were not so sure. At all events, he got 
a bullet. What had possessed him to under- 
take such an ambitious enterprise as swallow- 
ing a current-wheel is a mystery. Possibly he 
thought he would like to taste the make-and- 
break spark device. There is no accounting for 
tastes, and a Gila hasn’t overmuch sense. 

Bobby went home after that first day’s ex- 
163 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


perience greatly wrought up and with a cruel 
cut on his hand. Still that was much better 
than to be bitten by a Gila monster. Of 
course, it was no such adventure as the Black 
Ranger had with grizzlies, or Frank Nelson with 
pirates and bandits, and yet, you know, it was 
some adventure at that. 


XIII 


red’s plans 

O NE day, when they had finished work, 
Mack and the others left Bobby to loosen 
the taut cable and put the meter in its box 
while they went over to Contractors’ Camp for 
band rehearsal. 

After arranging things for the night Bobby 
started fpr Roosevelt along the beaten path 
which they called Precipice Lane. He had not 
gone far when he came face to face with Red 
Thornton. 

''Hello!” said he, surprised. "What are you 
doing here?” 

"Waiting to see you,” said Red. "How are 
you, kiddo?” 

Bobby had not seen Thornton since his 
rescue from the dredge, and the change which 
had come over him was pitiful. He wore no 
coat, and his shirt, which had once been gray, 
was now of no color at all, and torn into the 
bargain. Worse than this, his cheeks were hol- 
ies 


UNCLE SAM^S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


low and his face had the unmistakable look of 
worry and deprivation. But his eyes were still 
vivacious, and Bobby noticed that the trusty 
'harmonica, his only companion, stuck out of his 
pocket. 

“Wandering minstrel, hey?“ he laughed, 
noticing where Bobby’s glance fell. 

“I’m glad to see you. Red,’’ said Bobby. 
“I’ve often thought about you — especially when 
I was sick. I got to feel thankful to you more 
than to anybody else, that’s one sure thing. 
And I wanted to see you so as to tell you so. 
They’ve got to admit you were a hero, and 
they do — even Mack does.” 

“That’s very sweet and 'kind of him,” said 
Red; “and some day I’ll have to show him 
how to line a contour right, just to pay him 
back.” 

“Nobody says you can’t line contours. Red 
— nobody ever said that. Gee! they couldn’t 
say that, anyway. And everybody knows where 
I’d be if it wasn’t for you — I don’t care what 
they say.” 

“Gettin’ sun-dried a mile away at the end 
of the pipe-line, hey?” laughed Red. 

Bobby shuddered at the very thought; and 
he shuddered, too, at Red’s flippant way of 
speaking of it. 


i66 


RED’S PLANS 


^‘Well, anyway, I know you’re a hero even 
if you don’t. You can talk kind of joking about 
it, like — ^but I know. If you’d waited they’d 
have told you.” 

'‘Told me I was a crook, yes. I suppose you 
heard all those lies about me. Must have come 
hard to admit I could swing a stunt.” 

"They knew it was brave. Gee! they had to 
admit it.” 

"Gang of yaps,” sneered Red, "clapping at 
a little dive. They ought to go to the circus, 
the whole bunch of them. They make me sick.” 
His cynical view of his own daring act troubled 
Bobby. 

"Well, anyway, I know, and I’m grateful to 
you.” 

"You know why I did it, don’t you, kiddo?” 

"Because you’re a hero.” 

"Because you’re a little prince; and you feel 
friendly toward me after all you’ve heard? Or 
maybe you don’t believe the things.” 

Bobby hesitated. "I don’t know anything 
about those things; but I know you’re wrong 
about some things. Red. But, anyway, it 
hasn’t got anything to do with it. One night 
when I was sick — when you’re sick you can 
think of things better — that night I was think- 
ing about the ways people treat each other, 
167 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

kind of. Home, where I lived, my uncle 
wouldn’t let me join the Scouts ’cause he didn’t 
like the Scoutmaster; and there was a man 
named Mr. Bronson that he didn’t like either. 
But I found out some things about Mr. Bron- 
son that he didn’t know, and I got a right to 
like him.” 

”Kiddo, you’re one little brick.” 

”You know that fifty dollars I told you 
about?” said Bobby. ”Mr. Bronson' gave me 
that. He’s president of a bank. He said he’d 
give me money enough to go to college and be 
an engineer if I liked it. So you see maybe my 
uncle didn’t know all about him — ^maybe. 
And that’s the way it is when I think about 
you.” 

Red looked straight into Bobby’s open face 
and refrained from any flippant remark. 

”I’ve got that fifty dollars yet,” said Bobby, 
after a moment’s silence, ”and I’ve got some 
at the Postal Bank. If you want some of it 
until — Did you sell your secret yet?” 

“Don’t you worry about me, kiddo, and you 
keep that little old fifty. The bank president 
knows a trump when he sees one. You can 
tell him that if you happen to be writing. I’m 
worrying along all right. You’re wasting your 
time working for the Government, kiddo; they’ll 

i68 


RED’S PLANS 


never appreciate anybody like you. I got wise 
to them all right, Craig and that outfit.” 

''That’s one thing I don’t like about you, 
Red.” 

Red reached out and tousled Bobby’s hair. 
"Well, that’s one thing I do like about you,” 
he mocked. "Come on, walk along; I want to 
talk to you.” 

"I wish you’d tell me where you live. Red.” 

"Frazer’s, Settlement House in Phoenix, 
Maricopa Indian Village, freight-cars — ” 

"I wish you’d tell me really.” 

"Well, I’ll tell you where I’ll be living three 
or four months from now, if that ’ll do. I’ll be 
living in the swellest part of Phoenix; I’ll have 
my own little bungalow — ” 

"I’m going to work in the valley next spring,” 
said Bobby, "and I’ll come and see you if you 
want me to.” 

"Want you to! I’ll grab you by the collar 
and drag you there. I’ll kidnap you, that’s 
what ril do. I’ll be on easy street then.” 

"Did you sell your secret?” 

"Well, practically — ^yes. I haven’t got the 
cush yet, but it ’ll be a nice little bag of coin 
when it comes — somewhere round three hun- 
dred.” 

Bobby noticed that the amount had gone 
169 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


down since their last meeting. ''Couldn’t you 
get five hundred like you said?” 

''Doubt it. This hayseed is a stingy old 
crab, but he’ll come across for three all right. 
He’s busted and needs money for his house. 
But I’ve got other balls in the air, kiddo. I’m 
in with a movie concern; we’re going to do a 
fiood and a lot of other junk — goin’ to show 
irrigation. ' The Death of the Desert ’ — how do 
you like that for a name?” 

Bobby thought it was a fine name, and he 
was on the point of asking if Uncle Sam wasn’t 
responsible for the death of the desert, but he 
refrained. 

''I’ll have another four or five hundred out 
of that,” said Red, "so you can see for your- 
self where I’m going to get off.” 

They paused at the edge of the big camp, for 
Red would not go farther. 

"I’m coming to the valley after the dedica- 
tion,” said Bobby. "Next week I’m going to 
help on revetment and facing, and I don’t 
know what I’ll do after that; maybe I’ll mark 
stones for grouting.” 

"They ought to face up that cove near Pine 
Hill,” said Red. "She’s breaking down and 
throwing silt all the time. They ought to put 
a forty-five - degree concrete facing on there 
170 


RED'S PLANS 


and revet the stream above. There's going to 
be trouble there." 

"Red, I — I wish you could come back and 
work for Uncle Sam — ^because I can see you 
know such a lot." 

"I can show that bunch a trick or two. But 
not for mine. I'm through with your uncle. 
And I'm going to have you out of it yet, too. 
I'm not going to forget you, kid, and if the office 
turns a trick on you, hunt me up." 

It seemed pathetic to Bobby to hear these 
proffers of assistance from one who had been 
brought so low. 

"Take care of yourself, kiddo; you’ll hear 
from me." 

"I hope I surely will. Red," said Bobby, 
"and I got to be thankful to you, though be- 
sides that I like you, anyway." 

"Well, get together, kiddo. So long." 

Bobby watched him as he went back along 
Precipice Lane and into the wildness and dark- 
ness. Then he went up to his neat little room 
in the Survey Bungalow, washed, and hurried 
over to mess-tent. 

Michigan wasn't there to jolly him that 
night, for he was blowing his lungs out with a 
dreadful trombone over at Contractors' Camp. 

Red was right about the cove up near Pine 

12 171 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


Hill; it was one of the little things which Uncle 
Sam had neglected for bigger things. And very 
shortly something did happen there which in- 
volved Bobby in a rather novel adventure. 

Pine Hill Cove, or Cliff-Dweller’s Cove, or 
Bandit’s Cove, was one of the show places of 
the great storage site. It vied with the dam 
in popular interest. It was the kind of place 
which was pretty sure to get itself on a post- 
card some time or other. It was said to have 
been the exclusive section of a once thriving 
prehistoric town of cliff-dwellers, and there 
were signs of ancient habitation in and about 
it. It was also reputed to have been the hid- 
ing-place of a band of train-robbers, and it is 
a fact that when the storage survey was made 
a skeleton was found on the mound which was 
now a tiny island. 

It was a pity that a spot with such a dark 
and mysterious history, and so secluded and 
romantic, should end by being faced with con- 
crete, but that was the very design which Uncle 
Sam had formed against it. Bobby had heard 
the most exciting and gruesome tales of the 
cove, chiefly from Michigan, and he took them 
with a grain of salt. But the topographic boys 
had worked on the storage survey, and camped 
there while they were taking contours on the 
172 


RED’S PLANS 


hill above, and their accounts of the place had 
filled Bobby with a desire to see it. 

The best way to get to the cove was by 
water. You took the launch — if the powers 
that were would let you have it, otherwise a 
rowboat — and went up the north shore of the 
Tonto Creek end of the lake. Scarce a Sunday 
but a party did this. After about an hour’s row 
you came to a place where there were pre- 
cipitous cliffs with an opening or cleft between 
them hardly more than wide enough for a boat 
to pass through. You had to ship your oars 
to pass in, and when you had done so you 



PINB HILL COVE AND THE ISLAND ABOVE. DOTTED LINE SHOWS 
THE DIRECTION OF THE “ CUT-OFF " 

173 



UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


found yourself in a place where the stillness 
was awful. One could hardly recognize his 
own voice there, so strange and hollow did it 
sound. 

The place was two or three hundred feet in 
diameter, with precipitous walls all around it 
so that you could no more get out of it than 
you could get out of a well, except by the way 
you had come in. Before the dam was built 
the cove had, of course, been dry land, and, 
indeed, you could not then have approached it 
by boat; but now the only dry part of it was a 
little bubble of land which stuck out of the 
water a few yards from the cliffs, and this, too, 
was destined to disappear with the next spring’s 
freshets. The cliffs nearest this little islet were 
of jagged earth, and the roots of the trees which 
grew above stuck out like wriggling snakes. 
Once upon a time the bank here had evidently 
fallen away and it was said that the mound 
constituting the islet was formed in this way. 
A tributary of the river passed just above, 
making a sharp bend, and the few trees which 
intervened between the river and the cliff had 
been carefully conserved in order to bind the 
land and keep the river from washing through 
at its abrupt turn. 

During the captain’s present stay at Roose- 
174 


RED’S PLANS 


velt he and Mr. Leighton had decided that it 
would be necessary to face this cliff with a 
sloping concrete wall, and to let the river 
through above so that it would enter the reser- 
voir as a fall. 

The job had been all planned and Bobby and 
the Ghost were now delegated to go up in 
the boat on Saturday to leave the tools and 
materials which the men would require on Mon- 
day. The Ghost worked in the office and 
was nephew to somebody or other. They called 
him the Ghost because he took the pay- 
envelopes about. He was about seventeen 
years old and very round and chubby, with an 
exceptionally good color for a specter. His 
right name was Worrie Wordell, or Chunk Wor- 
dell, and he was always complaining that he 
had no adventures. The nearest approach to 
actual reclamation work which he did was to 
letter maps at odd times, and you have to 
have a pretty good imagination to fancy your- 
self engaged in project work” when you are 
lettering maps. He used to bewail his fate to 
Michigan, who sympathized with him and said, 
”Alas! poor Ghost!” 

But now the Ghost was to have the time of his 
life, for he and Bobby had been granted per- 
mission to camp in the cove over Sunday. 

175 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


They made a trip first with the launch, 
taking the wire netting, a lot of thin rope, 
graduated rods, some bags of cement, and the 
necessary implements, which they left on the 
islet. On their second trip with the skiff they 
brought some more material and their own 
bivouac outfit. Bobby was to assist in the 
work of the following week; but no such luck 
for the poor Ghost. 

It was getting on toward dusk when they 
hauled the bow of the skiff up on the islet, and 
if they had been on an oasis in the Desert of 
Sahara they could not have seemed more iso- 
lated, and remote from civilization. The high 
gray cliffs surrounding them were duller in the 
twilight and the trees on the precipice above 
cast their shadows like specters down into the 
black waters. 

“This is where they found the skeleton, I 
guess,” said Worrie. “Oh, but it must have 
been a lonely place to die in.” 

“Or get killed in, more like,” said Bobby. 
“Gee! that’s one thing I always wanted to find 
— a skeleton.” 

“Michigan says there’s treasure buried here,” 
said Worrie. 

“You can’t believe half he says,” Bobby com- 
mented. 


176 


RED’S PLANS 


'' Look at the sky,” said Worrie; '' it’s the same 
color as the cliffs.” 

'‘It looks kind of steel color,” said Bobby, 
and as he spoke a little short gust of air rustled 
the trees above and rippled the water. Then 
it was gone. 

"I used to think you couldn’t have any 
adventures working for Uncle Sam,” said Bobby; 
"but, oh, cracky! I had another think coming 
— sure. Open that duffel-bag and I’ll show 
you how to start a fire; sling the saucepan 
over, too. You like bacon? Well, here goes 
for some bacon. Hand me the rice and the 
raisins.” 

In a few minutes he had a fire going; the 
surrounding cliffs reflected its cheerful glow, 
and the water showed the blaze inverted. 
Bobby had bivouacked a good deal in his work 
up on the Forest Slope; he had come to be 
quite an expert as a lone camper, and it was 
not without a certain vanity that he now ex- 
hibited his skill to the poor Ghost, whose hum- 
drum life made him envious. 

"Having kindled their fire,” said Bobby, 
"the two lads proceeded to skin the grizzly — 
Hand me the pepper, will you?” 

"Why does a story-writer always call a boy 
a lad?” inquired the Ghost. 

177 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


''Search me,” said Bobby, "when suddenly a 
crackling sound told them — that there should 
be more water in the rice. Pass that can over 
here. Do you like raisins with bacon. Ghost?” 

The Ghost was a willing martyr. He ate 
bacon and raisins and said they were made for 
each other, and he agreed that Bobby’s rice- 
flops would put the Government commissary to 
shame. 

After supper they settled down to camp-fire 
yarns which turned on the various phases of 
Uncle Sam’s great work out of doors. 

"Next spring,” said the Ghost, "I’m going 
down the Missouri on revetment work, and 
they’re not going to keep me in the wannigan, 
either.” 

"What’s a wannigan?” Bobby asked. 

"It’s a big boat you camp on while you’re 
going down the river. It’s a regular floating 
camp. They have dandy fun. Are you going 
on revetment work?” 

"Later, the captain says, I may do some 
work on the Old Lady.” 

"That’s where they have the fun — down be- 
low on levee work.” 

"Well, the gulch has been a pretty good home 
to me,” said Bobby. "Gee! it’ll seem awful 
funny when Roosevelt’s all gone, won’t it?” 

178 


RED’S PLANS 


''Yes, but there’s one thing — What’s the 
matter?” 

Bobby had jumped and just caught his hat. 
''That’s an awful funny kind of wind, isn’t it? 
It comes so sudden and then stops.” 

''And that is,” Worrie continued, ''that if 
you’re in the service you’re sure to meet your 
friends again. It’s like one great big family. 
Take Mack, he was on the mattress work down 
the Ohio, and I was in the wannigan on the 
L. H. time-sheets. Then I come out here and 
here he is. And no matter where you go you’re 
sure to run up against Dynamite Charlie. 
Jiminy! it seems as if he’s gradually blowing 
the whole country to pieces! When he came 
here the first fellow he met was Michigan; 
they were both on dry excavation at Panama. 
That’s the way it runs. A big project like this 
is a regular family reunion.” 

The Ghost’s talk opened up a delightful out- 
look to Bobby. 

" It kind of gets you, working for Uncle Sam,” 
he said. 

''Sure it gets you. Look how it’s got the 
captain. Leighton says it’s like the sea — 
you’re sure to go back to it. Uncle Sam’s like 
the goblins that get you — There goes your hat 
again!” 


179 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


This time Bobby’s hat went careering through 
the air, spun around above his head, and landed 
on the cliff. At the same time the water was 
churned up so that it wet the cliffs a foot or so 
above the water-line. 

‘'What do you know about that?” said 
Bobby. “No sooner had our young hero — ” 

“Our young hero had better look out for the 
boat,” said Worrie, jumping up suddenly. 
“Look!” 

The boat was rocking violently, and Bobby 
jumped to haul its bow farther up on the shore, 
but he was too late. It went dancing and 
rocking away from the islet and began rubbing 
itself like a cow against the cliffs. 

“Maybe it ’ll come back,” said Bobby. 

“Suppose it doesn’t?” said Worrie. 

“If it isn’t back by morning I’ll chuck a 
stone into it with a rope attached and haul it 
back willy-nilly.” 

“Willie what?” 

“That means whether it wants to come or 
not. You’re not getting cold feet, are you?” 

“No; but I’m going to get wet feet pretty 
soon, and so are you. If you expect to get that 
boat you’d better do it now.” He held his hat 
on as he spoke, for the wind was still blowing. 
“Suppose it should drift out?” 

i8o 


RED’S PLANS 


can’t drift out, you gump; a boat always 
drifts sideways. Hurry up! Stamp on that 
fire!” 

The fire had scattered into little particles all 
over the islet. The wind was blowing furiously, 
and the trees on the precipice turning this way 
and that as if they knew not what they were 
supposed to do. A wooden plate which the 
boys had been using went straight up into the 
air and came down again. 

^'Can you beat that?” said Bobby. 

The air was of a blue color, and all the sur- 
rounding scenery was the same. There was 
something very uncanny and portentous in the 
whole appearance of things. 

' ^ Maybe it’s going to be a cyclone, ’ ’ said Worrie. 

^‘Well, it can’t blow us away, anyway,” said 
Bobby. “We’ve got the cliffs all around us.” 

“Yes, and the cliffs have got water all around 
them, too.” 

The wind was now raising havoc. Out 
through the narrow opening into the reservoir 
the water looked like the ocean, and in their 
little prison it beat against the cliffs and blew 
back in spray across the islet, where it also 
rolled up, wetting them and the material they 
had brought. 

Above them was a sound of crashing and 

i8i 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


rending; a tree near the edge of the cliff seemed 
to stagger, then came tumbling pell-mell into 
the cove, the black earth dripping from its 
bare roots like water. 

It was growing darker and the water seemed 
as black as ink. Suddenly there came a tre- 
mendous gust which caused the boys to reel 
and brace themselves as they stood. The trees 
above were lashing violently, great branches 
breaking from them, and some of them falling 
into the cove. 

'‘We’re a pretty good target,” said Bobby; 
"if one of those should hit us — ” 

"Look!” said Worrie. "There, against the 
cliff!” 

As Bobby looked he saw the naked tentacles 
of root wriggling like snakes, and disappearing 
one by one as a serpent disappears into a hole; 
and every minute came a fresh rending and 
falling of some tree above as the triiunphant 
wind tore those tortuous, resisting arms out 
of their earthy home. 

Suddenly, amid the uproar, another tree stag- 
gered over the precipice into the water. 

"We’d better get the boat if we can,” said 
Worrie, "and get away from here; we’ll get 
our heads crushed in.” 

"Where could we get?” said Bobby. ’ 

182 


RED’S PLANS 

They had to raise their voices to make them- 
selves heard. 

'‘I’d rather be drowned than have one of 
those fall on me. Just keep your eyes on the 
top of the cliff and dodge, that’s all we can 
do. It usually doesn’t last long.” 

Bobby turned, and as he did so he saw that the 
boat was broadside against the entrance to the 
cove, and half inverted so that it formed a sort of 
dam. Wedged into the opening above it was one 
of the fallen trees, its great, earthy root squeezed 
between the cliffs ; the other tree was bobbing near 
by. Above this the cliffs almost met, roofing the 
opening, so that now it was all but closed. 

Scarcely had Bobby noticed this when Wor- 
rie’s voice sounded in his ear above the hubbub. 

"Look — the cliff! It’s the river. She’s 
jumped!” 

They stood speechless with dismay and ter- 
ror as a mighty volume of water, bearing tree- 
limbs and huge boulders, came tumbling in 
white foam over the precipice. 

"We’re done for,” Bobby whispered. 

Red Thornton was right. The river had 
taken matters into its own hands, and the 
water, as Bobby realized with a shudder, was 
pouring into the little cove ten times faster 
than it could possibly get out. 

183 


XIV 


THE CUT-OFF 

'‘T ^ 7E have only one chance,” said Bobby, 

V V ''and weVe got to act quick.” 

His companion said nothing; he was struck 
dumb with fright. The edges of the islet were 
already submerged, and when they moved a 
yard or two the water lapped their shoes. The 
pandemonium of wind and breaking limbs and 
rushing water continued; darkness was falling, 
which made their predicament the more ter- 
rible. The imminent peril would have been 
enough to unnerve older minds than theirs and 
strike panic to the most coiu*ageous heart. 
They must die like rats in a well — they felt 
sure of it. 

Bobby tried hard to keep his courage, and 
sought to cheer his friend. The whole body of 
the river seemed to be potuing in upon them, 
its riotous spray dashing in their faces and 
wetting them through and through. He looked 
anxiously at the cove entrance to see if the ob- 
184 


THE CUT-OFF 


struction was gone or moving, but could dis- 
tinguish nothing. Doubtless much water was 
getting out, but not enough to count, and Bobby 
was conscious of the irony of this fiendish act 
of nature. To tear an opening for a river and 
to use the very material wrenched out of that 
opening to make a dam to wall it up again 
— ^here was the blind, heartless ingenuity of 
nature shown with a vengeance. In this crazy, 
contradictory act she would blot out two hu- 
man lives. Surely the science which aims to 
circumvent and throttle her is the science of 
warfare, and engineers are strategists and heroes, 
after all. 

If this thought came to Bobby it was only in 
a crude, chaotic way, for he knew that their one 
faint hope lay in immediate action. 

''Feel for the rope,’' he shouted. "It isn’t 
washed away, is it?” 

"Here it is,” Worrie answered in a strange 
voice. 

"If you hear a crash,” said Bobby, "edge out 
into the water; if you’re under a falling tree 
it’s better to be in the water than on land. 
Try not to get beyond your depth, and if any- 
thing falls on you or near you, hang on to it. 
It ’ll be fifteen or twenty minutes before the 
water’s high enough to cover us, and we can 
185 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


work till it’s up to our waists, I guess. The 
principal danger is from the trees. All the 
land up there is eroded, I suppose.” 

''I’m glad I’m with somebody that’s been in 
field-work,” said Worrie, weakly. 

''I wish Red was here. Hand me one of 
those picks, quick.” 

In a couple of seconds the rope was fast to 
the pick-ax handle. 

''Is the rope good and fast?” Worrie asked. 

"Scout bow-line.” 

Outside of a bulldog there is nothing in the 
wide world like a scout bow-line knot. 

Bracing himself as well as he could in the 
mushy, submerged ground, Bobby gathered all 
his strength and hurled the pick-ax up through 
the darkness. He heard it splash in the water 
and hauled it in. 

"Throw it to the left of where the water’s 
falling,” said Worrie; "the bank will be more 
solid there and there are some trees standing.” 

"I can’t see what I’m doing,” said Bobby; 
"that’s the trouble.” 

Again he cast the pick up into the darkness, 
and again it came down without touching any- 
thing solid. 

"It’s too heavy,” he said. "Hand me one of 
those survey rods.” 


i86 


THE CUT-OFF 


He tied the rope midway of the survey rod 
and cast it up, spear fashion. It came down, 
and he cast it up again. He was sure it had 
landed on the cliff, for he pulled it over slight 
obstructions, but nothing held to it. He had 
hoped that by jerking it he might bring it side- 
ways to the rope and that it would lodge itself 
between the trees or rocks above. 

Their predicament was becoming desperate. 
Worrie, almost unnerved with fear and sus- 
pense, held the rest of the rods lest they be car- 
ried away. He stood on the bags of cement to 
keep out of the water, which was almost up to 
Bobby’s knees. 

“Don’t get rattled,” Bobby said to his com- 
panion. “We’ve got fifteen or twenty minutes 
— maybe more. Guess the trees that are stand- 
ing now will stick it out.” 

The roar of the wind above was deafening, 
although they did not feel its force so much 
where they were. Now and then they could 
distinguish black objects in the water, but 
these floated clear of the islet, carried over 
against the cove entrance by the force of the 
incoming water. 

“Why don’t you throw a pick over into that 
stuff?” Worrie asked. 

“I thought of that,” Bobby shouted, “but 
13 187 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

the water would carry us against it too fast; 
we’d get our brains crushed out. Don’t get 
scared. Here goes again. I wish Red was here.” 
It was curious how he kept thinking of Red. 

This time the rod went well over the cliff, 
and when he pulled it dragged a little and then 
held fast; but when he tried his weight against 
the rope the rod broke. 

“Give me three or four of those rods,” he 
shouted. “We’ll get out of this yet.” 

He bound several of them together and 
hurled them, spear fashion, though not so easily 
as he had hurled the one. Again and again he 
threw, only to pull the rods back. He could 
not always tell whether they reached the siun- 
mit of the cliff, for sometimes they came away 
without resistance, borne down in the furious 
volume of water. 

The water was now almost to their waists, 
and Bobby worked with difficulty. All that 
was left of the islet was a little pile of cement- 
bags sticking out of the floor. On this Worrie 
stood, striving to keep his balance with a sur- 
vey rod and listening in suspense for a crash 
from above which might lay them both low. 
Amid the frenzied shrieking of the wind and the 
cracking of limbs strange sounds could be heard, 
weird echoes, and uncanny, half-natural voices, 

i88 


THE CUT-OFF 


and through all this uproar was the steady 
sound of rushing water. Bobby had no time 
for reflection, but he did wonder what the 
scene above was like, where a river had, all in 
a minute as it were, deserted its wonted channel 
and plowed a passage for itself along a path of 
less resistance. He imagined himself and his 
companion floating logily in this turbulent 
caldron or hurled against rocks and tree- 
trunks, their crushed bodies hidden and un- 
recognizable. What he did not realize was 
that what was happening here on a tiny scale 
sometimes happened elsewhere on a colossal 
scale, and it was to this mighty, heedless tyrant, 
water, that Uncle Sam's engineers had thrown 
down the gantlet. 

''Take this book," he said, handing Worrie 
the little pocket memorandum-book which he 
carried, "and write on the blank pages just 
what happened. Can you see? Maybe things 
will be different to-morrow and they won't be 
able to see just how it happened. Put it in 
the coffee-pot and chuck it up on the cliff. I'm 
going to make one more try. The water's too 
deep; it gets in my way; I can't sling. Let 
me get on those bags. My side begins to sting 
now — it's that blamed rib. Is the heavy plumb- 
bob there?" 


189 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

Worrie felt around among the material under 
water. '‘Here it is.” 

"The cord on it?” 

"Yes.” 

"Good.” Bobby tied the plumb-bob to one 
end of the bound rods. "She’ll sail better,” 
he said. 

It was his last try, and he realized it. The 
water was up to their waists, his side hurt 
cruelly, and he believed that if this was not 
successful their only hope of safety lay in giving 
themselves to the turbulent water and trusting 
that it might carry them against some trunk 
to which they could cling. 

"Here goes.” 

The clumsy spear, carrying the last hope of 
those two despairing victims, sailed up through 
the storm and darkness, hurled with all the 
■strength which desperation can muster, dragging 
after it its slack of rope. 

In all the adventures which Bobby Cullen had 
later — and he had a good many, as you may 
know if you wish — he never suffered such sus- 
pense as in those few seconds when, standing 
in the water, he pulled gently on the rope, feel- 
ing the rods as they held and yielded and 
seemed to stumble over insufficient obstacles 
above. Once the rope held fast, but slackened 
190 


THE CUT-OFF 


again when he jerked it hard, and he feared it 
was now near the edge. Again the rods caught, 
and again he jerked slightly, then placed his 
weight against the rope. There was a little 
yielding above, then the rods seemed to settle 
themselves more firmly against the obstructions 
which held them. 

'‘There's a little spring in the rope," said 
Bobby, “and Tm afraid the rods are only hold- 
ing by something against the two ends. It 
may snap. I can't test it standing here; but 
I'm going to take a chance." 

Standing there with the water lapping his 
chest, the precious end of the rope in his hand, 
and shouting amid the roar and tumult into his 
companion's ear, Bobby Cullen's inherent hon- 
esty, dominating all other qualities, now shone 
out like a light in all that tempestuous darkness. 

“Ghost," said he, “if I go first I can test the 
strength of the thing, and if I get up there all 
right I can fix it seciure. But while I'm trying 
the water may take you off your feet. If you 
go first it may bust and that 'll be the end of 
you. It's just a question of which way you'd 
rather die, kind of. Maybe it might be best 
for me to go first because Tm lighter. But you 
can decide. I wouldn't want you to think I put 
myself ahead of you, and I don't want to get 

191 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

saved unless you are, too. I can’t tell which 
would be safer. What do you say?” 

. The Ghost, whose chief desire was to put off 
the fatal moment, said that he would wait, and 
Bobby, after giving the rope two or three final 
jerks, tied the end of it around one of the 
cement-bags, lifted himself on it and swung into 
the volume of water which poured over the 
cliff. Hand over hand he raised himself, strug- 
gling against the falling water, but in a few 
seconds he was under the descending sheet, be- 
tween it and the cliff, and here the sound was 
steady and uniform — like an engine letting off 
steam. 

Presently he felt the dash of the water again 
and knew that he was near the summit of the 
cliff. He had thought that surmounting the 
precipice would be his great difficulty and might 
prove his Waterloo; but the water had already 
washed away so much of the earth and the 
chasms left by the uprooted trees had so broken 
the surface that, instead of the difficult feat 
which he had dreaded, he found himself plow- 
ing waist-deep in mud which would certainly 
have engulfed him except for the rope to which 
he clung for dear life. Even as he plowed and 
dragged himself through this a terrific crash 
rent the air, the rope was jerked suddenly 

192 





'<N- P»B 


HAND OV’EK HAND HE RAISED HIMSELF, STRUGGLING AGAINST THE 

FALLING WATER 




THE CUT-OFF 


through his hands from behind, its knotted 
end with the splintered rods attached struck 
him, and it was gone. He stood knee-deep in 
oozing mud and utter darkness. There was no 
sound now but the steady swish of water. 

“Worrie!” he called. ^^Are you down there? 
Are you all right — Worrie?’' 

There was no answer, and he stood stark 
still, listening. 

“Hey, Worrie !” he called again. “Why don’t 
you answer? Worrie! What happened?” 

There was no sound but the steady roar of the 
falling water and the occasional noise of a falling 
limb as it crashed into the chaos about him. 

He knew not what to do, whether to turn 
back or go forward, and, indeed, he could not 
see where he was going. His blood ran cold 
and he had a strange feeling in his throat. He 
called again, not expecting an answer, but just 
to relieve his tense nerves. 

“Worrie, what’s the matter?” 

He pressed on through mud and darkness 
into shallow water, from which he backed out, 
stumbling over fallen trees. His hand was cut 
from the quick passage of the rope through it, 
and his side had a cruel pain — ^the one lasting 
souvenir of his encounter with the dredge. 
Everything was confusion — mud, fallen trees, 
193 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


boulders, and here and there he encountered 
the vagrant stream, as if it, too, were lost and 
knew not where to go. 

At last he came upon comparatively dry land, 
and, stumbling over a tree-trunk, he sat down 
upon it to rest and collect his senses. The 
wind had subsided, but the darkness was in- 
tense. He did not know what new act of 
treachery nature might play upon him if he 
moved; his frightened imagination saw cliffs 
and pitfalls and quagmires on every hand, and 
he laid his throbbing head against a limb which 
kindly counterfeited a reclining back, to wait and 
see what the grateful daylight should reveal. 

He did not care much what happened now. 
He told himself that he had sacrificed Worrie’s 
life for his own safety, and he could not go 
back to camp alone. Red Thornton, he re- 
flected, had saved his life and gone away, 
scorning praise. Red had sneered at his own 
reckless bravery and at those who were child- 
ish enough to praise it. Now he, Bobby, hav- 
ing saved himself, would go back to Roosevelt. 
He told himself that such a life as his was not 
worth the saving. “Red is a success,” he said, 
“and I am a failure.” 

He was too weary and sick and frightened to 
reason it out. 


194 


XV 


SHADES OF THE ANCIENTS 

T hat was the night in Bobby Cullen’s life 
when he was a murderer. If you feel like 
a murderer then you are one, so far as your own 
peace of mind is concerned. And the next 
worst thing to being a murderer is to be a bun- 
gler and a failure. Bobby was all of these 
things. 

He had made a fine show of kindling a camp- 
fire, and of cooking, and he had allowed him- 
self to take pleasure in thinking how the poor 
Ghost envied and admired him. He had con- 
stituted himself the brains of this whole affair, 
and he had lost the poor Ghost’s life for him. 

“I guess my imcle was right,” he mused, 
miserably. ''Probably he could see I didn’t 
amount to anything.” 

All night long the poor, unresourceful Ghost 
haunted him more truly than ever less sub- 
stantial ghost haunted a terrified human. 
Bobby scarcely slept at all, and with the 
195 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


dawn he was wide awake. He found that he 
was on the brink of the deserted channel just 
where the stream had turned, and he saw how 
the water had indeed ''jumped its traces,” to 
use the captain’s phrase, plowing a new and 
straighter path for itself and rushing headlong 
for the edge of the cliff. The turn had been so 
sharp that the trees had not been sufficient to 
withstand the water’s natural inclination to 
flow in a straight line. If revetment mattresses 
had been lodged against the banks in that 
abrupt turn the river would have gone its 
wonted way, but these had not been placed 
there, just because Uncle Sam had intended to 
direct the river into the cove, although not so 
soon. Bobby was later to have a hand in this 
wonderful revetment work on the mighty rivers 
of Uncle Sam’s vast territory, and the glimpse 
he now had of the dangers which revetment 
seeks to overcome remained for long a vivid 
picture in his memory. It showed him and 
taught him as no book could have done. 

He crept carefully to the point where the 
water fell into the cove, though now it rather 
flowed than fell, since the loosened earth of the 
precipice had been all but washed away, and 
besides, the water almost filled the cove. He 
would not have been afraid to make the descent 
196 


SHADES OF THE ANCIENTS 


in a boat. The rocky cliffs, of course, stood firm, 
but the section of earthen wall had given way 
as soon as its allies, the trees, had surrendered. 
It was the wind which had made the first as- 
sault, the river merely following up its advan- 
tage. Bobby could see that the waterfall had 
moved forward across the cove, as one might 
say, and was now tumbling over the cliffs above 
the entrance into the lake beyond. 

What surprised him was the rapidity with 
which water can change the whole face of 
things and make a familiar scene unrecogniz- 
able. The cove was gone — there wasn’t any 
cove. The islet had vanished like the magic 
carpet in the Arabian Nights. He had seen 
something of the same effect at home in Bridge- 
boro; but here the change was still more start- 
ling. He could not show anybody what he 
had done, for he was the only part of the affair 
that was left. It could never happen again, 
that was sure. As he looked about him, and 
at the river settling contentedly into its new 
channel, the whole thing seemed like a night- 
mare. Somewhere in that neighborhood he 
had stood on an island and thrown a rope. 
That was about all he knew. 

He pushed around a little in the bruised 
ground adjacent to the new river-bed. Great 
197 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


roots, lying sideways, dripped black earth when 
he touched them. Sticking out from under one 
of these was something which startled him, and 
when he went closer he saw it to be a bloody 
hand. In the ragged chasm left by the up- 
torn root lay a form, half covered with earth, 
which Bobby saw to be that of the poor Ghost. 

For a nioment the discovery quite unnerved 
him, not only because of the unnatural position 
of the body and the ghastly look in the face, 
but because he could not in any way account 
for his companion’s presence there. However, 
he had not taken the good Scout oath for 
nothing, and his brief experience of first-aid 
work helped him now. 

Circling Worrie’s wrist with his hand, he 
found that life was not extinct. Then he ex- 
amined the other hand and discovered that a 
jagged wound near the wrist was bleeding freely. 
The boy was quite unconscious, his hands cold 
and his lips blue. Whatever else was the mat- 
ter with him, he had almost bled to death, 
Bobby was sure of that. 

He broke a stout twig from the tree, knotted 
two corners of his handkerchief together, slipped 
it over the wrist and up on to the forearm, and, 
running the twig into it, began to turn. Pretty 
soon the bleeding lessened and ceased. He 
198 


SHADES OF THE ANCIENTS 

opened Worriers shirt, straightened his legs care- 
fully, lest they be dislocated, then pulled him 
gently out of the damp chasm on to drier land. 
He knew of nothing that he could bring water 
in except his shoe, so he removed one and 
started for the river. On his way luck favored 
him by his discovery of the coffee-pot contain- 
ing the brief message which Worrie had scrib- 
bled in the darkness. This he brought back 
full of water and doused it over the imcon- 
scious boy’s face. Then he sat down by him 
and waited. 

After a little while he fancied that he heard 
a faint sound in the distance. He ran along the 
cliff for some little way and looked anxiously 
across the vast lake. The sun was rising over 
the water and flickering the surface with its first 
brightness. Out on the quiet bosom of the 
great reservoir a solitary tree was floating, its 
dark, earth-laden roots bobbing logily. Far 
down on the other side Bobby could just dis- 
tinguish the Forest Hill Slope with little streaks 
of white here and there, which he knew to be 
the freshet-trenches, and beyond the slope the 
dark forest. What if a few trees, like a little 
company of ambushed soldiers, did surrender 
here and there? The forest was still above the 
reservoir, 


199 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


The sound was a little clearer now, and un- 
mistakable. 

Tk, tk — tk, tk — tk, tk, tk, tk — tk — 

It was the little one-cylinder kicker, glorying 
in its unmuffled freedom and skipping accord- 
ing to its wont; and never did the- dreadful 
skipping of an unmuffled engine soimd so wel- 
come to Bobby’s ears as then. In a few min- 
utes she came around Indian Point, taking the 
turn short, and headed across Tonto Valley, 
skipping brazenly. 

The sight of the lonely boy on the edge of 
the cliff was a welcome one to the occupants of 
the Government launch. And now, more than 
at any other time, did the whole affair seem to 
Bobby like a fantastic dream. 

''Are you both all right?” Whiskers, the 
grouting foreman, called through the mega- 
phone. 

Bobby made a funnel of his hands and called 
back: "I’m all right, but the Ghost’s hurt. 
The cove’s gone. — Give her a little more air 
and put your timer back, for goodness’ sake.” 

It was well known in Roosevelt that Bobby 
was the only one who could make the launch 
engine behave. 

It was a pretty ticklish job getting Worrie 
into the boat, and they had to run up-shore to 

20Q 


.SHADES OF THE ANCIENTS 


a place where the banks were lower in order to 
do it at all. The boy himself was oblivious to 
everything. The rescuers had not expected any 
such condition as they found. They had come 
partly to bring some material and partly to 
assure themselves that the campers were all 
right after the rough night. 

Later, when the Ghost was able to talk, he 
told of his' own miraculous escape out of the 
doomed cove. He believed that it was just 
after Bobby had gotten on to the cliff that a 
tremendous crash came. Instinctively he had 
raised his arms when something struck him on 
the wrist, and, though dazed, he became aware 
of a tree directly at his side, extending up diag- 
onally to the summit of the cliff. He had no 
knowledge of the breaking rope, which the tree 
had doubtless encountered in its fall, tearing 
it away from its anchorage above. Mustering 
all his strength, for he felt weak and giddy, he 
had succeeded in scrambling up the trunk to 
comparative safety. Reaching the summit, he 
had believed he heard Bobby's voice, but he 
was too weak to answer, and fainted, he thought, 
immediately. He remembered regaining con- 
sciousness and staggering forward till he fell 
into a hollow, and that was all he knew. The 
strange part of the whole thing was that as he 


201 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


lay there with his life ebbing away Bobby was 
scarce a dozen yards distant. 

Thus the two had passed that dreadful night 
which terminated their tragic camping expedi- 
tion in the historic cove. 

It is an ill wind that blows no one any good, 
and now the Government geologists and fossil- 
hunters found a field of never-ending interest 
and surprise in the deserted channel which came 
to be called the Dead River. It was fascinat- 
ing to look into this half-mile of winding cut 
and to wander through it to the point where its 
unruly water had once emptied into the reser- 
voir. It was not the Salt River, the channel 
of which thereabouts was entirely submerged 
by the vast body of storage water, but one of 
the many tributary streams. 

At one place it had flowed deep and strong 
through a wild canon, and here, below the 
former water-line, were found curious ex- 
cavations in the precipitous walls which doubt- 
less had been carved by human hands at a time 
when the canon was as dry as it had now 
become. Here were found fragments of strange 
pottery, hideous images, and great numbers of 
bleached and crumbling bones. 

Michigan said these places were the remains 
of ancient apartment-houses, and he soberly 


202 


SHADES OF THE ANCIENTS 


placed on the captain’s desk a thin rectangular 
stone panel with hieroglyphics on it which he 
said was an automobile registry number, prov- 
ing conclusively that there had been an ancient 
garage in that neighborhood. 

Notwithstanding all the fun-making of the 
Roosevelt workers, who were Philistines at 
heart — and the captain was the worst of the 
lot — some pretty interesting discoveries were 
made which turned Bobby’s thoughts back to 
those mysterious people who had inhabited 
ancient Arizona and irrigated parts of the 
Salt River Valley. 

One discovery in particular interested him 
greatly, and this was a stone-lined excavation 
under the old river-bed connecting with caverns 
on either side. This ancient subway was in a 
fair state of preservation, and when pumped 
and cleared out one could pass through it. It 
had evidently been made before the river existed 
and now it was discovered after the river had 
ceased to be; and the little furore which its dis- 
covery caused in the community rekindled 
Bobby’s curiosity about the strange people who 
had once inhabited these parts, and who he 
realized were a people of no mean attainments. 

These fascinating revelations were, of course, 
the direct result of what had happened above 

14 203 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

the cove, and the whole business was a good 
object-lesson to Bobby, first, of the marvelous 
power of water, and second, of the wonderful 
civilization which had once flourished there. 
He saw that water, while a docile servant, is 
a cruel master, and up in the forest he was 
later to learn the same fact in regard to fire. 

The only other aftermath of the affair was 
the martyrdom of the poor Ghost, whose sole 
excursion away from his maps and time-sheets 
had proved so disastrous. Michigan was con- 
tinually asking him when he was going to go 
after grizzlies in the Rockies or form an expedi- 
tion against the Apaches, until Worrie shunned 
him like a pestilence. Still, it was all in the 
family. 

It was, indeed, the Ghost’s only adventure, 
imless you consider the Jiarrowing circumstance 
of the spiral crevasse down the Missouri an 
adventure. But, anyway, that came later and 
is really part of another story. 


XVI 


THE CRUISE OF THE “ SLOW-POKE 

“ OB/' said the captain, sitting meditatively 

L3 back at his desk and moving a little pair 
of steel dividers idly across the blotting-sheet, 
'"they tell me you’ve pulled a big stunt; exerted 
your scientific influence where everybody else 
had failed.” 

He looked sideways at Bobby in that quiz- 
zical way which the boy knew so well. 

don’t mind being jollied,” said Bobby. 
^'Everybody jollies me — especially Michigan.” 

The captain laughed. Every now and then 
he took it into his head to send for Bobby — for 
he felt a sort of responsibility about him — and 
to question him about his work and find out 
how things were going with him. Possibly he 
found Bobby something of a relief from strains, 
and pressures, and convergent arch action, and 
all such things. Bobby always talked to him 
frankly and enjoyed his little visits immensely, 
especially as he saw very little of the captain 
205 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

at other times. He smiled now, and looked 
around at the blue-print-covered board wall and 
waited. 

''They tell me you’ve succeeded where even 
Mr. Leighton here failed.” 

The resident engineer, never looking up from 
his desk, chuckled. 

"That you’ve put one over on the whole 
mechanical and scientific staff. Succeeded 
where I fell down. How about it?” 

" Now I know you’re jollying me,” said Bobby. 

"Bob, I’ve always known you were popular 
in camp. They tell me you’re the mascot over 
there in mess-tent, but when I heard you’d 
made friends with the Slow-poke's engine I 
threw up my hands. Anybody that can do 
that is inspired. If the Slow-poke wasn’t on 
C. S. it would have been fired long ago.” 

"You have to put an elastic band on the trip- 
hammer; that’s the only trouble with it,” said 
Bobby, flattered. 

"The trouble with it is total depravity,” 
said the captain. "Well, anyway, we’ve elected 
you skipper of the Slow-poke, and I just thought 
I’d break it gently to you. The lake’s so big 
now that there’s a good deal of running around; 
you’ll have to take the topographic boys down 
to West End every morning, and chug the 
206 


CRUISE OF THE “SLOW-POKE’’ 


Congressmen about, I suppose, and be like the 
fellow on the sight-seeing ’bus. How’s it strike 
you?” 

It struck Bobby so hard he could hardly 
answer. 

”I’m — I’m glad I used to hang out in Brad- 
ley’s garage, anyway — ” 

''All right. Bob,” smiled the captain, "go to 
it. Roosevelt’s coming out here in the spring, 
and I dare say he’ll want a ride.” 

Think of that! He, Bobby Cullen, to give 
Roosevelt a ride! Whew! 

He did not know whether he walked to the 
door or flew there on wings. All he knew was 
that he got there somehow, and then he heard 
the captain say, "Just a minute. Bob.” 

Bobby paused, his hand on the door. 

"Think you’ve got a pretty good general idea 
of diversion work? Because that’s what’s go- 
ing to come in handy down below.’ That’s 
why I put you up there on the Slope, and that’s 
why I want you to have a year or so on the 
canals. Then we’ll get after the Old Lady. 
As soon as spring begins and we get the freshets 
I want you to get another taste of it. But 
this ’ll do for a flier. Only don’t forget what 
you’ve learned.” 

^ Meaning Salt River Valley. 

207 


UNCLE SAM^S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


‘‘You wouldn’t exactly call the Slow-poke a 
flier,” said Mr. Leighton, smiling at Bobby. 

The boy left with a laugh, feeling very happy, 
as he usually did after visiting the office bunga- 
low, and before so very long, as it happened, 
he had an opportunity to prove the practical 
value of much that he had learned. 

In those months preceding the formal open- 
ing of the project he had a varied experience in 
his errands about the vast lake. That was a 
time when the work upon the slopes was being 
hurried to completion ; here and there upon the 
borders of the reservoir, and above, squads 
were busy among the clefts and gorges of minor 
tributaries, while much of the detail which had 
been familiar a year before was now submerged. 

It was also a time when many visitors, official 
and otherwise, came to see the mammoth dam 
holding back this inland sea of stored waters. 
They came up in the stages from Mesa, and 
some of them down from the branch terminal 
at Globe, along the old freight path. Those 
who had previously visited the valley were 
enthusiastic about its new possibilities, and 
glowing accounts began to circulate in camp of 
the farming enterprises “below.” Bobby him- 
self began to share Luke Merrick’s fear for 
New York and other proud cities in view of the 

208 


CRUISE OF THE “SLOW-POKE’’ 


magical growth of Phoenix and Tempe and 
other communities in the former desert. 

This influx of outsiders during the mild 
winter months greatly enlivened Roosevelt, shut 
out from the world as it had been, and their 
talk about the valley, of the miles of ditches 
ready for the refreshing water, made Bobby 
proud of the great work he had helped bring 
to completion. 

Early one morning before the spring opened 
the Ghost appeared at the landing near the 
dam, escorting a lady and gentleman and a 
young girl, who were to be taken for a spin 
around the storage site. Bobby was cleaning 
the engine and putting a new elastic band on 
the trip-hammer. { 

“Mr. Leighton told me you would take us 
about,” said the gentleman; “but I’m a little 
afraid to go unless you are sure you can get us 
back in two hours. We’re going down by the 
ten-o’clock stage to Mesa.” 

“I can’t take you all the way round in two 
hours,” said Bobby, pulling off his cap; ^‘but I 
can take you up as far as Indian Point. There 
was a man scalped there once, so that’s a good 
place to go to.” 

“How perfectly dreadful!'* said the girl. 
“Yes, do let’s go and see it!” 

209 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


^'That’s nothing,” said Bobby. could take 
you to Miner’s Gulch, where there was a mas- 
sacre — the freshets come through there now.” 

'‘We should like to see all that we can see 
and get back before ten,” said the gentleman, 
"and we’ll depend on you to bring us back 
in time.” 

"All right, sir,” said Bobby, "the only thing 
that could happen would be if the elastic band 
on the trip-hammer broke; but I always carry 
a lot of them in my pocket, anyway.” 

"They tell me you’re an engineer,” said the 
gentleman, as they chugged up the lake. 

"I’m going to college some day, and then I’ll 
be one. Mr. Bronson’s going to send me — he’s 
president of a bank.” 

"Isn’t that perfectly lovely?” said the gentle- 
man’s daughter. 

"But Captain Craig says the best place to 
start is in the field,” said Bobby; "he says you 
got to learn Government methods. Co-opera- 
tive spirit — ^you know what that is?” 

The gentleman thought he understood what 
that meant. 

"It just means being loyal to Uncle Sam,” 
said Bobby ; ' ' sometimes engineers use big words 
to tell you what they mean.” 

"Yes, I guess you’re right,” said the man. 

210 


CRUISE OF THE ‘‘SLOW-POKE’’ 


‘‘Convergent pressure — that's a stiff one, 
isn’t it?” said Bobby. 

“Perfectly dreadful'" said the girl. 

“But all it means,” said Bobby, “is that a 
thing that’s curved is stronger than a thing 
that’s straight — like an arch, kind of.” 

“Isn’t that perfectly wonderful?” said the 
girl. 

“And that’s the way it is,” said Bobby, en- 
couraged, “with fraternal effort and co-opera- 
tive spirit and things like that. It just means 
being loyal to the Government. It’s easy to 
understand.” 

“But not always so easy to do it?” the gentle- 
man suggested. 

“It is if you get the bug,” Bobby answered. 
“You know what private enterprise is?” he 
asked, turning suddenly upon the girl, who 
looked as if she thought this something of a 
poser. 

“Private enterprise couldn’t do this job — 
do you know why? It wouldn’t be because 
they’re not smart enough. But because you 
don’t love your boss in a private enterprise.’ 
See? You couldn’t love a railroad, could you?” 

“Hardly,” said the gentleman. 

“But you can love Uncle Sam?” 

“And that’s the secret of your noble dam and 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


your great storage lake and all these ditches 
and canals down yonder, is it?” 

‘‘Sure it is. Ask Mack or Michigan or Dyna- 
mite Charlie, or any of the topographic fellows, 
or even the L. H. concrete men. They’ll tell 
you the dam is yours as much as it’s theirs. 
Sometimes you might hear Mr. Leighton say 
there’s an atmosphere here. I used to think 
he meant weather, but now I know what he 
means.” 

He stooped to tiun the grease-cups and oil 
the piunp eccentric. 

“I see you’ve learned a little out here, my 
boy.” 

He was very soon to see that Bobby had 
learned a great deal. 

They chugged along past places where freshet- 
beds had been opened in the solid rock and 
where concrete diversions had been built to 
take the place of earth channels. They could 
see these thin, white streaks winding away and 
disappearing among the hills. 

“The Gov — Uncle Sam just reaches out in 
every direction and gets the water and then 
takes it down there to the desert and sends it 
out in every direction again, doesn’t he?” the 
gentleman said. 

“That’s what they call diversion,” said 
212 


CRUISE OF THE “SLOW-POKE^’ 


Bobby. ‘‘Gee! you'd make a pretty good en- 
gineer, I guess.” 

There was a general laugh as they chugged 
on up the west shore, past Indian Point, where 
the cliffs were steep. 

“In there,” said Bobby, pointing to a narrow 
cleft, “is what we call Little Grand Canon. 
Six months ago the water didn’t flow in there 
at all. Want to go in?” 

He throttled the motor down and they 
chugged into a narrow sort of hallway with 
precipitous walls. 

“Now let’s all talk at once,” said Bobby. 

As they did so a clamor of voices arose; it 
seemed as if a hundred people were calling. 
They all laughed at this strange phenomenon, 
and as they did so a perfect carnival of merri- 
ment was all about them. 

“That’s Apache Indians,” said Bobby, try- 
ing to frighten the girl. 

His passengers were so genial and so interested 
in all he showed them that Bobby felt quite 
elated at his success as a tourist guide. He 
even allowed himself a little of that fun which 
the seasoned habitue of a locality is pretty sure 
to enjoy at the tourist’s expense, and his mis- 
chievous essays at startling the girl caused, gen- 
eral amusement. In a word, his guests were 
213 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


so thoroughly in the spirit of the trip, and so 
eager to know all he could tell them, that 
Bobby experienced shudders of dismay and 
chagrin when suddenly there was an ominous 
feel of dragging beneath, then a scraping sound, 
and the boat stopped. The engine, availing 
itself of the smallest excuse, stopped also after 
several ineffectual revolutions. 

^‘Oh, are we going to sink?” cried the girl in 
genuine alarm. 

'‘We couldn’t sink very far,” said Bobby, 
sheepishly ; ‘ ‘ we’re aground. ’ ’ 

The man pursed his lips and shook his head 
ruefully. “Pretty shallow in here, hey?” 

Bobby felt very much ashamed. He saw his 
prestige vanishing as he realized that all his 
talk and his assurance of a prompt return had 
ended in a bungle. 

“There isn’t any danger,” he said, weakly; 
“I — gee! I thought there was plenty of water 
in here.” 

The man said nothing. He did not. seem to 
be angry, but rather anxious. “How long will 
we have to wait here?” he asked. 

“Oh, just a minute, I guess,” said Bobby, 
hurriedly removing his shoes and rolling up his 
trousers. “I can back her off all right.” 

But he was not so sanguine as he allowed 
214 


CRUISE OF THE “SLOW-POKE’’ 


them to think, and his attempts to back her off 
were quite futile. 

The man looked at his watch. The pleasant 
air of sociability was quite gone, although the 
lady looked rather sympathetic as she watched 
Bobby’s efforts to rock the boat back from 
the shallow place. His passengers carried out 
the usual program of people in this ridiculous 
predicament, of swaying themselves this way 
and that, sitting on one side and then on the 
other, and imagining that they were moving 
the keel. 

It was of no use. On a tidal river you simply 
wait till the tide comes up — which may be an 
hour or two; on a storage reservoir you may 
wait till the freshet raises you — which may be 
a month or two; or you may do the other 
thing — ^which is nothing. It makes very little 
difference which. People who are in this pre- 
dicament when they have to catch trains are 
curiously unappreciative of the fact that they 
are not in the slightest danger. 

Bobby sat on the deck, clasping his bare 
knees and feeling utterly condemned. 

'‘Perhaps if we all waded in,” said the gentle- 
man, “we could push her off.” 

The picture of the young girl, whom he had 
tried to frighten with his talk of Apache In- 
215 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


dians, getting out and pushing was not pleas- 
ant to Bobby. 

'‘Wait a minute,” said he, with a sudden 
inspiration. “We’ve got half an hour or so 
to spare. Suppose I try to raise her on a lock. 
I haven’t any canvas dam, but I might be able 
to use the awning — if it’s long enough.” 

He felt that his whole reputation now de- 
pended on this. He would either carry them 
triumphantly out into the lake again by an 
engineering feat or they would stay here until 
some one came in the rowboat and rescued 
them. 

The awning was about four feet wide and 
sixteen feet long, and through a pocket at 
either end was a metal rod, like a stick in a 
window-shade. There were two upright stan- 
chions, one forward and one aft, to which these 
cross-bars were fastened. Bobby removed the 
whole business and waded back with it to a 
point about six feet beyond the boat. 

“The water’s coming in up a ways. You 
can hear it,” said he. 

Somewhere up through the gorge, which nar- 
rowed to a mere crevice a little farther on, 
they could hear the splash of falling water. 

Anxiously Bobby pulled one of the awning- 
rods a little way out of its pocket and stuck 
216 


CRUISE OF THE “SLOW-POKE^’ 


it into the ground close to the cliff. Then he^ 
crossed the chasm-bed and lodged the other 
one in the same way on the other side. Here 
he rolled the awning around the rod a little 
way to bring it to the proper length. Then 



SHOWING HOW BOBBY MADE THE CANVAS DAM OUT OF THE BOAT'S 
AWNING 


he braced the stanchions in the ground diago- 
nally. As the edge of canvas which lay along 
the ground became wet it adapted itself to the 
bottom, following all the irregularities. As this 
was not possible on the end where the rods 
were, Bobby stuffed the interstices with cotton 
waste and oily rags, which held the water splen- 
didly. It was only necessary to do this near 
217 



UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


the bottom, since a very few inches of water 
would float the boat. 

'‘Now I’ll squeeze up there a ways and see 
how much is coming in; then we’ll know how 
long we’ll have to wait.” He pushed his 
way up through the narrowing cleft and present- 
ly called, joyously: "Oh, it’s coming in great — 
about thirty-two velocity, I guess. That means 
spring has come. We’ll be off in fifteen or 
twenty minutes.” 

This would be time enough, and they all sat 
waiting. Pretty' soon the water began to lap 
higher on the awning. They watched eagerly 
as the first strip of design on the canvas little 
by little disappeared. 

"I think it’s just wonderful,” said the girl. 

"It’s better for the awning to get wet than 
for you to get your feet wet and to have to 
climb over the deck. Cracky! that’s one sure 
thing,” said Bobby, gallantly. 

"It isn’t that,” said the girl; "but I think 
it’s wonderful to see how it — Oh, just look, 
the red stripe is gone! You can make the 
water do just as you please, can’t you?” she 
said, enthusiastically. 

"Sure,” said Bobby. 

He was recovering some measure of his lost 
pride now as his scheme proved itself, and he 
218 


CRUISE OF THE ‘‘SLOW-POKE” 


began to tell the girl how the gorge was full of 
Gila monsters and tarantulas, till she held her 
elbows tight against her sides and shuddered, 
and said that nothing would tempt her into 
that creepy place outside the boat. 

They did not wait till the Slow-poke floated. 
When the water had risen three or four inches 
Bobby started his engine on reverse and got 
out and shoved. The boat scraped a little, 
then off she went, plunk into the canvas dam. 
Bobby gathered the awning up, jumped into 
the boat, grabbed the steering-gear, and pres- 
ently the Slow-poke, after adding another to 
her many ignoble adventures, backed gaily out 
into the lake and headed at the terrific speed 
of six miles an hour for the dam landing. 

If Bobby's glory had been under a cloud, 
it had now come out again as clear as the sun 
down in Salt River Valley. The gentleman 
complimented him cordially on his ingenuity; 
the lady said she didn't see how he ever thought 
of such a thing; while her daughter said it was 
simply amazing. None of them had ever heard 
of that convenient device of irrigation — a can- 
vas dam. But perhaps it was the happy 
thought of using the awning which impressed 
them most. 

No doubt the whole business was scarce worth 

15 219 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


the telling, except that it was Bobby’s first 
meeting with these people whom later and far 
away he was to meet under the most extraor- 
dinary circumstances. 

His passengers caught the stage and after- * 
ward Bobby learned that they lived close to 
the Mississippi River, somewhere in Missouri. 

‘'Maybe that’s why I had to show them,” 
said he. 


XVII 


TWO LETTERS 


T last there came a day in the early spring 



l \ when the godfather of Roosevelt Dam 
came out to help dedicate it, and there was 
great rejoicing and yards of bunting in Uncle 
Sam’s community. It was the death-knell of 
the camp city, but the camp city did not care — 
it would go out in a blaze of glory. 

The great reservoir, rising and spreading 
from a myriad freshets, had by now usurped 
much of the land which had been familiar to 
Bobby. The isolated tents and cabins on the 
lower reaches were no more. Roosevelt itself 
was now on the very brink of the water. The 
coping on the dam was at no such dizzy height 
from the lapping water as when he had first 
looked down from it on that memorable eve-: 
ning of his arrival nearly a year before. The 
little islands and points of rock which had stuck 
out of the water then were gone, and as he 
221 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


looked up toward the Tonto end he could see 
that the land which he used to cross going to 
Forest Slope was no longer there. It was 
wonderful how the whole geography of the 
place had changed. 

Bobby put on the new khaki suit which he 
had gotten from the commissary in honor of 
the gala occasion, and he wore his reclamation 
button. He was not going to be mistaken for 
a mere civilian visitor — not if he could help 
it. He was one of the family. 

Early in the morning Luke Merrick arrived 
with his lumbering old wagon chockful of peo- 
ple from the valley, blowing horns and singing 
“The Great Song of Phoenix.” They all wore 
“project flowers,” and one fellow distributed 
among the workers pinks raised in the hot- 
house of the Government’s experimental farm. 
Pretty soon people who had been down at 
Frazer’s overnight began to arrive in gaily 
trimmed wagons. 

All sorts of novel demonstrations were made 
by the valley people of what they had been 
able to accomplish even with scant and make- 
shift distribution. One wagon displayed an 
enormous effigy of an Indian — representing 
Arizona — drinking his fill from a huge tankard 
while Uncle Sam waited close by. One farmer 
222 


TWO LETTERS 


brought an ostrich up with a great label on his 
neck, reading: 

“He can’t bury his head in the sand because 
there ain’t no more sand.” 

Roosevelt was thrown open to the visitors, 
who wandered about in the mess-tent, the 
hospital, the bungalows, the commissary; but 
of all the people who peered curiously about 
those scenes whieh had grown so dear and 
familiar to Bobby, the one who must poke into 
every nook and cranny was the godfather of the 
dam himself, who wore a gorgeous “project 
flower.” 

Bobby had the Slow-poke decorated with 
bunting; he earned an extra supply of elastic 
bands for the trip-hammer, and flew the little 
survey flag at the bow and the colors astern. 
And he did take the godfather of Roosevelt 
Dam for a spin around the reservoir. Leighton 
and the captain were along, and the Mayor 
of Phoenix, and they can prove it. 

He was pretty busy all the morning ehugging 
back and forth. Every time he passed the 
Forest Hill Slope he would point out with 
pride the work which he had done himself. But 
whenever he looked at the concrete channel 
it dampened his pleasure more than a little to 
realize that Red, who had planned it, was not 

223 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

here as one of the workers to enjoy his share 
of the triumph which was being celebrated. 
He wondered if Red were with any of the 
arriving parties, and he resolved to keep a 
lookout for him, although he feared that Thorn- 
ton would stay away and have nothing but a 
sneer for all these festivities. 

When the momentous hour was come he ran 
up to the float, where Mack and Michigan and 
two or three of his particular friends from Sur- 
very Bungalow were waiting, and they all 
crowded into the Slow-poke, Then he ran her 
out and anchored just below the dam and far 
enough away from it to see everything. Luke 
had asked him up on the dam itself, where the 
burly water-master had a place among the 
officials and noted guests, but he preferred to 
stay in the Slow-poke with his friends. Dyna- 
mite Charlie came out in a rowboat and joined 
them. 

It was then, as they lay there waiting, that 
Bobby realized what the long-anticipated dedi- 
cation meant to him. It meant the breaking 
up of this home where he had spent so many 
happy days and the parting with these good 
friends. Michigan and Mack were going up 
to the Shoshone project in Wyoming; Dyna- 
mite Charlie was off for rock- weir work on the 


224 


TWO LETTERS 


Ohio; some of the topographic boys were going 
to the Philippines. 

‘‘You’ll be down the Mississippi next year,” 
said Mack to Bobby. “I heard the captain 
say so.” 

“Mississippi work always means a meeting 
of the clans,” said Michigan; “that’s why I 
like it. You’re pretty sure to meet the whole 
bunch. We’ll have you for mascot on the R. S. 
wannigan yet. Bob,” he added, clapping the 
boy on the shoulder. 

“I never thought I’d hate to go. I mean I 
never thought I’d hate it so much,” said Bobby; 
“I never had a home I liked as much,” he added, 
wistfully. 

“Lived with your uncle, didn’t you. Bob?” 
said Mack. 

“Gee!” said Bobby, “I’ve made a lot of 
friends out here — that’s one sure thing.” 

“You’re right there. Bob, old boy,” said 
Michigan. “Well, you know it’s all one big 
family. You’re in it now. I’ll be joshing you 
at mess up in Alaska yet!” 

Bobby was silent for a few moments. ‘ ‘ That’s 
one thing I like about Uncle Sam — he makes it 
seem like a kind of a home to you. Cracky 1 I 
could never work indoors now. Maybe you 
think it kind of made me sore when you fellows 
225 


UNCLE SANrS OUTDOOR MAGIC 


jollied me, but it didn't; it just made it seem 
more of a home, like. Gee! I used to miss 
you nights when you went to band concert." 

Michigan smiled and he didn't jolly him 
now. 

''I did — honest I did, Michigan." 

Michigan clapped him on the shoulder again. 
''Well, you'll hear the same old band playing 
for the piccaninnies to dance by down on the 
levees. Bob; don't you worry." 

"The Ghost will be there," said Bobby. 

"Sure he will. We couldn't do without the 
Ghost." 

"It's going to be a good thing for you. Bob, 
to be down on the ditches for a while," said 
Mack. 

"It won't be the same, though," said Bobby. 

"Sure it will — off with the old love, on with 
the new." 

"It'll seem strange down there first, kind 
of." 

He looked up to the summit of the dam, where 
people were leaning over the coping, dropping 
pebbles into the water. It was thronged with 
visitors. The flag flew gaily above the little 
tower-house. To Bobby the great, clean struc- 
ture had never seemed so tremendous and mag- 
nificent as now. He remembered how he had 
226 


TWO LETTERS 


come chugging up here in the launch on the 
morning of their rescue when the wind-storm 
had wiped out Pine Hill Cove, and how the 
great dam had stood there, calm and majestic, 
scorning all that furore of the elements. It was 
a very symbol of strength. Because it stood 
there bracing its mighty flanks against the 
everlasting cliffs and because nothing could 
budge it, miles and miles of desert country 
down below would be changed into thriving 
communities and fertile farms. Little pigmy 
people could climb all over it, the wind could 
blow and the waters rise, trees could be up- 
rooted, rivers could career madly out of their 
courses, but the dam would stand right there 
and attend to its business. How many hun- 
dreds of people, cities, towns, markets, would 
come to depend on this colossal dam! 

“It seems, kind of, as if it makes you be 
more loyal to Uncle Sam when you look at the 
dam,’' said Bobby, “because if you trust the 
dam it’s just the same as trusting Uncle Sam.” 

“You’re a great old Bob,” said Mack. 

Bobby could not hear the speeches very 
well, but he caught the sense of what was said. 
He heard that the Government did this thing 
for the sake of its citizens, so that they might 
come away from the crowded cities and till the 
227 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


land and build homes. He heard that private 
enterprise could not have done this, not only 
because of the cost, but because private enter- 
prise is selfish and such a thing as this must 
be done unselfishly. He heard that the water 
rates were not really charges for water, because 
the water belongs to everybody, but were just 
Uncle Sam’s way of letting the farmers pay 
back for building the dam and making the 
lake, and that when these were paid for the 
rates would cease. 

He heard much that interested him. He 
heard the ex-President say that the forests 
shade the streams and bind the earth and that 
they must be carefully preserved. He heard 
him say that the farmers in the valley must 
show the same spirit toward the Government 
that these workers above had shown. He 
heard him say that success awaited men who 
were industrious and patriotic and who loved 
their country better than they loved their 
farms, and that no man should come to this 
new land who had not the spirit of patriotic 
loyalty in his heart. 

Bobby had to hurry the Slow-poke to the 
landing so that Michigan could take his place 
among the band. When the ceremonies were 
nearly over he went up to camp to go to his 
228 


TWO LETTERS 


own little room in Survey Bungalow. The 
place was all but deserted. Down at the dam 
he could hear the last strains of the band play- 
ing the “Star-spangled Banner/' and see the 
tiny people moving along the coping and down 
the steps. Now that the dedication was over 
and there was nothing ahead but breaking up 
and departure, he felt depressed. He did not 
want to go away from here. As he walked he 
was thinking of the things he had heard said, 
particularly of what the ex-President had said 
of loyalty and patriotism. He was thinking, 
too, of how this remote little town and that 
bungalow, with its bantering company and his 
own neat little room, had been the nearest ap- 
proach to home that he had known since he 
was a very little boy. It had not been neces- 
sary to defend his uncle's memory here, for no 
one had known his uncle, but still he defended 
him in his own thoughts; he believed that 
Mr. Clausen had had many perplexities and 
he was loyal, though he never found it easy to 
talk about his uncle. How far away all that 
old life seemed now! 

He was musing in this fashion when “Kinks," 
the commissary clerk, hailed him. He went 
into the commissary and to the little post- 
office window. 


229 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


Letter here for you,” said Kinks. 

''It was postmarked Phoenix, and Bobby 
thought he knew whom it was from, but he 
did not open it until he got to his room. Then 
he sat down on the edge of the bed and read it. 

Dear Kiddo, — Don’t say a word — I turned my trump 
card. Pulled old What’s-his-name across for three hun- 
dred bucks, but I thought I’d have to give him chloroform 
to get it. Says he’s clean busted. I told him he’d have 
to shovel out a thousand or two on storage water before 
Uncle Sam got through with him. Then he fell for it. 
He’s going to have a hydrant or a windmill. I’ve got 
another pie in the oven, too, and it’s coming out brown, 
believe me. Movies! That ’ll mean five hundred more. 
So the Department of Agriculture and the Department of 
the Interior can rot, for all I care. 

Well, kiddo, I haven’t forgotten about you, you little 
son of trouble, and we’re going to get together. So bring 
your baggage and your conscience (if it isn’t too big to 
carry) just as soon as Teddy gets through his spiel. 
There’s an old ranch-house near Tempe that I’ve hired 
and we’re doping out some pretty good stuff for the films. 
If you don’t come straight here when you hit the valley, 
I’ll kill you. 

Well now, kiddo, there isn’t anything else to tell you 
except that you’ve got to come right here and stay with 
your old college chum, so don’t try to argue about it. I 
want to get another squint at that sober phiz of yours, 
and I’ll show you whether your old wandering minstrel 
230 


TWO LETTERS 


friend knows a brick when he sees one and can pay up 
a debt of gratitude. 

So drop me a line to the post-office in Tempe, so I’ll 
know when to kill a couple of ostriches. 

Yours for a good time, 

Red. 

P.S. — I chucked the harmonica and got a mandolin. 
How did you like Teddy? 

The letter struck Bobby like a cool breeze. 
It was just like Red ! He liked Red better than 
he had allowed any one to know. There was 
something so gay and worldly and reckless about 
him; and he was brave and smart. Yes, he 
was smart. Bobby was glad that Red was 
brave, for that in itself gave him an excuse for 
liking him. He read the letter several times, 
then he wrote an answer. 

Dear Red, — I got your letter and I am glad; especially 
because I was feeling kind of homesick like. It makes me 
feel good the way you say things. I am glad you are not 
going away like the rest of them. 

I am glad you sold your secret, Red. I had to laugh 
at what you said about giving him chloroform. I think 
it must be fine to be in the movies. The fellows where I 
used to live used to go, and sometimes one of them would 
take me. 

I don’t like what you said about the Department of 
Agriculture and the other department, though. That’s 
one thing I don’t like about you. Red. 

2^1 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


I would like to come and stay with you in your ranch- 
house. I don’t see why you say that about a debt of 
gratitude that you owe me, because I owe you one — 
that’s one sure thing. 

The dedication was to-day, and it’s all over. I heard 
Roosevelt make a speech. I couldn’t hear him very good 
because he was so high up. He hit the railing good and 
hard with his fist. He said the farmers have to be loyal 
and patriotic to Uncle Sam. That was when he hit the 
railing. 

Well, I’ll surely come and visit you on your ranch, and 
I’ll let you know when. 

Your friend, 

Bobby Cullen. 

P.S. — I like to hear a mandolin. A fellow I knew used 
to have one. 

When he went over to mess he took the letter 
with him to mail, but, seeing a little group of 
fellows lolling in and about the commissary, 
he kept it in his pocket and paused only to 
speak with one or two who hailed him. He 
did not like to have them know that he was 
writing to Red. Late at night, when the place 
was closed up, he went over and dropped the 
letter in the door slot. 

There was surely nothing underhand in that, 
yet it was not exactly like Bobby Cullen. 


XVIII 


THE LAND WHERE THE SAGE USED TO GROW 

B OBBY’S departure from Roosevelt was not 
as regretful as he had thought it would be. 
For by the time he went most of the others had 
already gone, the pleasant little homes were 
being torn down, and there remained little to 
remind him of the life he had led there. The 
merry company which had assembled at the 
long mess-boards had thinned out so that a 
single table in the commissary sufficed for the 
workers who still remained, and among these 
were few of the old familiar faces. 

The men from the Bureau of Ethnology who 
had been delving in the old river course lingered 
on, but they were not of the old circle. The 
captain had gone to the new camp at Engle 
Dam site in New Mexico to grapple with the 
storage problem of the Rio Grande Valley, and 
from there he was going, goodness knows where. 
He had told Bobby that he would send for 
him, and Bobby knew he would. Mack and 
233 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

Michigan and Dynamite Charlie and the top- 
ographic men had gone their several ways, 
talking about quadrangles in Dakota and con- 
tour work in the Rockies and camping and 
roughing it, so that it made Bobby heartsick 
to listen to them. The engineers down at the 
power-house remained, for they were per- 
manent, and Bobby divided his time during 
these days of waiting between helping the 
wrecking force in their ruthless work of devasta- 
tion and hanging around the great turbines, 
which never ceased to fascinate him. These 
were now working in full force. 

Sometimes he would go up in the Slow-poke 
to bring back the ethnology people, and then 
he seemed to be transported back thousands of 
years as he looked upon the ruins they had un- 
earthed and the gruesome images they had 
rescued. The geologists said some of them were 
two to three thousand years old. Long walls 
of skilfully laid square stone, apparently carved 
by hand, were revealed by the blasting, as if 
some mighty convulsion of nature had once 
buried them under the huge rock ledges. Many 
were the hideous graven figures that were 
brought home in the launch. 

From these men Bobby learned that Uncle 
Sam was a great fossil-hunter, digging for pre- 
234 


WHERE SAGE USED TO GROW 


historic relics with as much gusto as some men 
dig for gold. He had learned at school in his 
study of civil government about the several 
branches of the Government, legislative, execu- 
tive, and so forth, but he had never dreamed that 
Uncle Sam had a weakness for going out West 
and rooting around for souvenirs of lost empires. 

In those days he learned about the wonderful 
cliff-dwellers, and, since he was now in a measure 
free of restrictions, he allowed himself some 
freedom of thought in those fascinating matters. 
He learned that the cliff-dwellers were a civilized 
people, with churches, palaces, and schools, and 
he was shocked and amazed when told that it 
was a question whether the mighty dam itself 
would be in a better state of preservation two 
thousand years hence than were these wonder- 
ful ruins now. He learned that those extraor- 
dinary people had understood '‘arch action’* 
quite as well as Captain Craig understood it, 
as their subterranean passages proved, and that 
they must have had their engineers, even as 
Uncle Sam had his engineers now. 

At last one day Luke Merrick came up with 
provisions, and Bobby returned with him to the 
valley, saying good-by to the great dam, the 
vast lake, and the little disheveled town upon 
its brink, which had for so long been his home. 

16 23s 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


'‘Sorry ter leave, son?” Lnke asked, as they 
drove along the mountain road over which 
Bobby had come with such high expectations a 
year before. 

"Not so much now,” said Bobby, frankly. 
"I’m anxious to see the valley now, I’ve heard 
so much about it.” 

He had been a little afraid that Luke would 
suggest his inaking his home with him, or 
would have arranged some other accommoda- 
tions for him. He was greatly relieved when 
the water-master accepted as a matter of course 
his announcement that he was going to stay 
for a while with a friend. This was 6ne diffi- 
culty over, although he was not altogether 
comfortable at the concealment which Luke had 
made so easy. 

As they passed Frazer’s road-house, the loi- 
terers there, who had been much at Roose- 
velt, waved good-by to him, and that was the 
last reminder of the old life which Bobby had. 

It was late in the afternoon when they pulled 
into Mesa, the nearest to the mountains of 
any of the project towns. Here they stabled 
the horses and stayed overnight at the same 
hotel where Bobby had stayed a year before. 
Early in the morning they took the train for 
Phoenix — a ride of about half an hour. 

236 


WHERE SAGE USED TO GROW 


The country, dotted with bright new houses 
here and there, was as flat as a pancake, and it 
was thereabouts covered mostly with a fluffy 
kind of growth which Luke told Bobby was 
alfalfa. At one place the train crossed a con- 
crete ditch five or six feet wide which ran out 
across the country; at intervals narrower 
ditches ran out at right angles from it, while 
others, not concrete, ran out at right angles 
to these, as Bobby could see in the distance. 
As the train crossed the main ditch half a 
dozen ostriches which were standing, poking 
their necks about in the most uncanny manner, 
scampered off at a queer, outlandish gait. 

'Hs that one of the canals?'' Bobby asked. 

'‘No, that's a trunk lateral — comes down 
from Highland Canal and waters all them 
farms off east there. Canals are wider. Now 
you can take a good squint at that lateral, son, 
'cause it’s yours. You'll cover that from Tempe 
right up to where it strikes the main — 'bout seven 
miles. Later ye'll get a main canal, mebbe.” 

They stopped at Tempe, where several farm- 
ers boarded the train, and between Tempe and 
Phoenix there was much talk about the new 
era which the present season had brought. 
Bobby heard a good deal about “second feet" 
and “miners’ inches" and “alkali” and “stop- 
237 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


gates” and '^tapoons,” and other things which 
he did not understand. Luke was the storm 
center of a clamoring throng. There was a 
warm argument as to the advantages of ‘'ro- 
tary supply,” and one farmer wanted to know 
if the rider would have authority over the 
head-gates and regulators, and whether the 
Government would allow canvas dams to be 
used without permit. 

“None on ye can touch a regilator above 
subs,” said Luke; “the rider hes the keys.” 

Bobby began to feel quite important. 

Between Tempe and Phoenix they passed 
through a country showing on every hand the 
promise of early and plentiful harvests. Fields 
of the low, fuzzy alfalfa extended away to the 
horizon. The farmers talked about three, four, 
and five cuttings. Cattle grazed in spacious 
square inclosures; long double rows of bee- 
hives were here and there to be seen; Luke 
pointed out a vast area given over, as he said, 
to beet-sugar. At one place there was a large 
orchard with furrows running crossways through 
it, so that the place looked like a chess-board 
with the young trees as chessmen. The whole 
flat country — ^houses, fences, barns, sheds — ^was 
as neat and orderly as a Kate Greenaway land- 
scape. 


238 


WHERE SAGE USED TO GROW 

Bobby found Phoenix a pleasant town with 
palm-bordered streets and pleasant garden- 
surrounded homes. Many of the establish- 
ments apparently derived their names from the 
Government enterprise, such as the "'Reclama- 
tion Shoe-store,'’ the "New Project Market,” 
and so on. Everybody knew Luke and greeted 
him cordially, including Bobby in their friendly 
nods. At every corner Luke had to stop and 
talk about ponding, or free wash, or drowning, 
or drainage, or whether lemons were better 
with furrow flow, or what the Government was 
going to do about rotary supply. 

They finally managed to reach the Federal 
Building, where the land office was and where 
Luke presented Bobby as Captain Craig's chief 
assistant, which caused much laughter. Then 
he took Bobby into his own office adjoining, 
which had "Water Users' Association” on the 
door. Inside were a couple of clerks. 

"Well, here we are,” said Luke. "Now to get 
yer entered up and outfitted.” 

Before he had been in the town two minutes 
a dozen raw-boned, tanned individuals were 
lolling around, waiting to talk with him. 

"Now, son, you can see I'm pretty busy and 
so it 'll be 'most all summer, more'n like. So I'll 
tell yer brief what yer got to do. Yer work- 
239 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


in’ fer the ’Sociation, but the ’Sociation’s so 
mixed up with the Government that yer can 
say yer workin’ for Uncle Sam if yer like. 
Yer’ll get forty dollars a month fer a while, 
an’ then more, and ye’re responsible fer that 
Tempe lateral. Yer s’posed to cover that twice 
a day. Fer the present yer to lock yer head- 
gate every night at sundown — and don’t let 
nobody tell yer when sundown is. Close yer 
head-gate immejit if yer lateral overflows. If 
any complaints are made to yer jot ’em down 
on one o’ them blanks and send it here. Come 
here yerself on Wednesdays and Saturdays. 
Don’t let anybody use a canvas dam along the 
lateral on the main subs. Course, goes without 
sayin’ yer have to cover the subs, too. But 
yer don’t need ter ride up all the subs every day. 
See that all the head-gates and regilators is 
workin’. Don’t close a subhead-gate unless a 
farmer asks yer, ’n’ then only if the others along 
that sub is willin’. Look out for spite work, ’n’ 
never take sides. Remember yer not for Tom, 
nor Dick, nor Harry, but for Uncle Sam.” 

''Til sure remember that,” said Bobby. 

”See that yer do. Yer can ’phone here from 
Tempe any time if there’s any trouble, or any- 
thing yer ain’t sure of. Remember ye’ve got 
no business beyond the subs — that b’longs t’ the 

240 


WHERE SAGE USED TO GROW 


farmers. If a farmer wants to raise alkali in- 
stead of crops, let him, only don’t give him 
any extra water to do it with. Yer just a 
kind of a policeman workin’ fer the water- 
master ’n’ lookin’ out fer that lateral ’n’ its 
subs. Yer duty takes yer to the end of the 
concrete an’ no farther. As fer as yer see con- 
crete yer got authority. Now most of what 
yer got to do yer’ll learn as yer go, and the 
main danger with a likely youngster like you 
is ter make friends too easy and do little favors 
— raise yer head-gate up a little fer a quiet 
midnight wash — or something like that. It’s 
been done before, and it ’ll be done again. Look 
out! Yet yer want to be good friends to every- 
body, too. But take my advice ’n’ don’t take 
too many apples nor oranges nor nothin’ from 
the farmers. Now I’ll see yer after a day or 
two, when I got more time, ’n’ tell yer more. 
If there’s ever any sign o’ floodin’ call up the 
reservoir right away, then me ; but the reservoir 
first.” 

”I have to walk back and forth twice a day, 
do I?” Bobby asked. 

” Yer don’t hev ter walk at all. Here, Harry, 
this is Robert Cullen, from up Roosevelt; he’s 
goin’ on Tempe lateral; you see he gets a 
badge and a pony.” 


241 


UNCLE SAM^S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

He swung around and began to talk with the 
besiegers about getting seeds from Uncle Sam’s 
experimental farm. 

Bobby believed there was not the slightest 
doubt that Phoenix would presently be greater 
than New York, and he knew that Luke Mer- 
rick was born to be a water-master. 

In fifteen minutes he was riding through the 
main street, wearing proudly his badge of au- 
thority and riding a shaggy little pony. It was 
not yet noontime. It is doubtful if he had 
ever in his life felt so happy. The little pony 
trotted amiably along over the road to Tempe, 
between the vast fiat fields, intersected by the 
white streaks of the Government ditches and 
the branching furrows of the farmers. The 
bright sun shone overhead, the sky was cloud- 
less, cattle glanced up and away again as he 
passed, children hailed him, and men waved to 
him from the fields, knowing him to be the new 
“rider.” 

He caused quite a little furore in the smaller 
town of Tempe as he rode through, feeling very 
proud and happy. The natural cordiality of 
the Western people was increased through a 
politic desire to ingratiate themselves with the 
new ditch-rider. Reigning his pony at the 
Government experimental farm, he showed his 
242 


WHERE SAGE USED TO GROW 

badge and asked for the head-gate keys, which 
were given to him. Then he asked if they 
could tell him where Mr. Thornton lived. 

Red-headed feller?*^ one of the men asked. 

Bobby nodded. 

'‘Lives out about a mile along the Mesa 
road. Ye’ll see an old stone ranch-house with 
a wooden roof on that don’t fit it. That’s whar 
he lives. Roof blew off another house in a 
sand-storm and they laid it on top o’ that.” 

Bobby thought it must be quite an ambitious 
storm which could blow the roof clean off a 
house. 

‘^Yer kin make yer headquarters here,” they 
told him as he rode away. 

After fifteen or twenty minutes’ ride he came 
in sight of the place he sought. There was no 
mistaking it; it stood alone on an unirrigated 
section — where a lateral was later to be carried — 
and was, from the agricultural standpoint, a 
most undesirable abode. The little stone house 
was hardly better than a ruin, and upon it 
rested askew a pointed shingle roof, the whole 
structure reminding Bobby of a man wearing 
a hat entirely too big for him, and rakishly 
tilted into the bargain. Within a small, fenced 
inclosure a couple of ostriches poked their 
gaunt necks in the direction of the approaching 
243 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


rider. Several Indians were lolling about, smok- 
ing. In the doorway presently appeared Red 
himself, in typical cowboy garb, and greeted 
Bobby like a long-lost brother. 

“Kiddo, you old reclamation water baby, 
put it there,” he said, extending his hand. 
“How’s the Lord High Engineer? I was just 
going to send a posse of Apaches after you!” 

“I’m a ditch-rider now. Red,” said Bobby, 
dismounting. 

“You’re a little old mascot, that’s what you 
are. Here, let me introduce you to part of my 
family. Chief Rain-in-the-face, Chief Mud-in- 
the-neck, and Chief Cinder-in-the-eye — all fa- 
mous movie heroes; we were just rehearsing 
^The Cliff Dwellers’ Daring’ — three reels. 
Takes you back three thousand years.” 

“I didn’t write to you because I didn’t know 
just when I was coming,” said Bobby. “I’m 
glad you sold your secret, Red.” 

“Got another three-fifty coming in a couple 
of weeks from Chicago,” said Red. “I’m tak- 
ing care of the realistic end for the Back to 
Nature film people and arranging scenes on the 
spot. We’re paying union wages to real In- 
dians, kiddo. Come on in.” 

Inside it was very frontier-like and cozy, 
and Bobby sat down and told Red all the news. 

244 


WHERE SAGE USED TO GROW 


Thornton listened, telling Bobby at frequent 
intervals that he was a little brick and a fool 
to work himself to death for the Government, 
which was selfish and unappreciative and heart- 
less. 

“ThaUs one thing I don’t like about you, 
Red,” said Bobby, “and especially it makes me 
sorry, kind of, because I like you so much in 
other ways. I’d rather see you an engineer. 
Red, and, cracky ! you could be one — that’s one 
sure thing. But I think this must be a lot of 
fun, though,” he conceded, frankly, “and I’m 
glad I came.” 

“Well, kiddo, I don’t forget how you offered 
me some of your money when I was on my up- 
pers, and we won’t let an old skinflint like 
Uncle Sam come between us.” 

“He isn’t a skinflint. Red.” 

“Well, whatever he is he’s not going to come 
between us. You’re going to bunk here and 
trot around on your little old pony, and you’re 
a chump if you make two trips a day — take a 
tip from me!” 

“That’s the rule. Red.” 

“We don’t have any rules here, kiddo — ^just 
happy go lucky.” 

“And I’m going to pay you board — ” 

“You’re going to — If you ever dare to men- 
245 


UNCLE SAM^S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


tion that subject here I’ll throw an ostrich egg 
at you, and then have my band of trained 
Apaches scalp you. Hear that? You’ll pay me 
nothing. You’ll stay here for good luck — as 
mascot — ^you little — ” 

'H’ll stay for a while, Red, but — ” 

“ No ' but ’ about it. Here you are and — Oh, 
wait till I strum you a tune on the mandolin.” 

He sat up on the couch just as he had sat in 
Bentley’s cabin and began to play. 

”I’m on the Tempe lateral. Red,” said Bobby. 
“You know where that is, don’t you?” 

“Know? Didn’t I make the survey for it? 
I did more work on it than you’ll ever do. And 
what did I get for it? Yes, kiddo, I laid that 
lateral — if any one should happen to ask you; 
and who was it they sent down here from 
Roosevelt to watch out for the concrete lining 
and plan the turnouts?” he added, striunming 
the mandolin all the while. “Was it your 
friend Mack, or that joker from Michigan, or 
Barnard? Nay, nay, it was Red Thornton 
they sent down to do that. You can see my 
name on the blue-prints yet up there in Leigh- 
ton’s office — or could before the place was torn 
down. So when you’re trotting up and down 
that lateral hunting for trouble and spying on 
farmers, you can think of me, kiddo.” 

246 


WHERE SAGE USED TO GROW 


''I always said you were smart, Red; and 
brave, too; I always said that/' 

Red strummed the mandolin awhile in silent 
disgust. '‘And what did I get for it? A big 
juicy lemon, that's what. Just because I found 
some old prehistoric junk in the excavation and 
sold it to a couple of men, Craig gave me a 
black eye in Washington. Now they're rooting 
out tons of it up at the reservoir, and nobody 
says it isn't on the square." 

"I know it," said Bobby. 

"Everybody knows it's a historic neighbor- 
hood," Red went on, angrily. "That lateral 
excavation turned up lots of funny stuff ; there's 
a piece of it now," he added, indicating a yellow 
chunk on a shelf. "They used to line pas- 
sages with that stuff, and it was tight as a 
garden hose." 

"I know it. Red, and maybe the captain was 
mistaken about that. I've seen images and 
things they got." 

"Oh, well," said Red, with a sneer, "I should 
worry. I'm out of it now, and I've got money 
coming, and the whole blamed tribe of them 
can rot." 

"Tell me about yoim movie play. Red." 

Red's mood changed like tropical climate, 
and he laughed merrily. " Oh, we're doing some 

247 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


of that ancient dope, and now we’re going to 
fix up a big five-reeler on irrigation.” 

It amused Bobby that Red should be so 
ready to avail himself of Uncle Sam’s handiwork 
in this way, but he only smiled. 

‘‘W^ll, I’m glad you’re here, kiddo. What 
d’you say we get supper? Do you want to 
trot out and get some water in this pail?” 

Bobby went out and got the water from a 
dilapidated, caved-in well. 

'‘If any one can get water in this way,” he 
said, “I don’t see why they can’t irrigate with 
it. I don’t see how there can be any secret.” 

“A well is one thing, kiddo, and an artesian 
is another. There’s artesians in Colorado will 
irrigate a thousand acres.” 

‘‘But I shouldn’t think a negative artesian 
would give enough water for several farms, as 
you said.” 

“Oh, wouldn’t you? Well, you’ve got an- 
other think coming, my fraptious boy. When 
you get down to the end of your lateral, look off 
east a little ways on that dry section. You’ll 
see the corn-stalks bobbing good morning to 
you before the summer’s out.” 


XIX 


AT THE END OF THE LATERAL 

) the weeks passed Bobby liked his work 



l \ and he liked his strange home hardly less 
so. Red came and went, spending much time 
in Phoenix, and whatever his habit in the moun- 
tains may have been, he was now certainly 
nothing if not industrious. The big movie play 
about irrigation developed, involving many in- 
genious and novel scenes, and occasionally 
Bobby found himself drawn into the maelstrom 
of rehearsals. Red’s knowledge of Government 
work was invaluable. Sometimes in the eve- 
nings Bobby would help him phrase the explana- 
tory paragraphs which were to be displayed 
between pictures and he enjoyed it greatly. 
Once Red took his little company — ^which he 
always made to seem much larger than it was — 
up to the storage site to do ^‘some construction 
stuff.” Bobby envied them when they started 


off. 


This trip, as it happened, marked a turning- 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

point in the pleasant camp life in the old ranch- 
house, for when Red returned he was worried 
and preoccupied. 

‘'They say a lot of silt’s washing down and 
getting through into the canals,” he said. “Did 
you ever hear such nonsense? Now they’re 
talking about closing all the head-gates and 
running the canals and laterals dry for in- 
spection.” 

“Who told you that?” Bobby asked. 

“Oh, the reservoir guards and the power- 
house men,” sneered Red; “they say a lot of 
water is escaping from the canals through 
cracks in the concrete. Can you beat that?” 

“Well,” said Bobby, “I know how it was with 
the freshet-ditches on Forest Slope; the con- 
crete was always cracking.” 

“That’s different,” said Red. 

Bobby did not see how it was different. “I 
never had much to do with concrete work,” 
said he. 

“Then what’s the use in talking about it?” 
snapped Red. 

Bobby looked at him, surprised. “But I 
know there are cracks along my lateral. Red,” 
he said, “and as for silt, I know there is a lot 
coming down, because there’s a pile of it at the 
end of the lateral.” 


250 


AT THE END OF THE LATERAL 


'‘Well, then, what more do you want?'' Red 
snapped again; “if it washes through to the 
end, what more do they' want?" 

“The farmers down there wanted it," said 
Bobby; “it's pretty rich." 

“Did you give it to them?" 

“I'm going to ask Mr. Merrick, Saturday." 

Red threw down the piece of rock which he 
had been tossing from one hand to another and 
jtunped off the cot with an air of utter disgust. 

“You make me sick," said he. “ What's the 
use of running to Merrick with everything like 
a little tattle-tale? The farmers are all guying 
you now. If they want the silt let them have 
it. What good is it?" 

“I don't see what difference it makes to you, 
Red." 

“Well, because I hate to see you make a fool 
of yourself, for one thing. You claim to be in- 
terested in the project. Now you're standing 
in with a lot of Government busybodies that 
want to furnish jobs for the C. S. bunch. Why 
can't you let the farmers alone? As soon as 
they begin paying their rates Merrick and that 
bunch up at the dam begin to talk about drain- 
ing the canals for cracks and silt, and all such 
nonsense. The farmers won't get any water 
for a month." 

17 


251 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


^'Yes, they would, Red.” 

*'No, they wouldn’t; it’s a swindle.” 

''It isn’t a swindle, Red,” said Bobby, angrily, 
"and if you talk like that I won’t stay here. I 
can go over to the experiment farm any time 
I want to. I’m not going to stay here and listen 
to you call the Government, a swindler. You’ve 
been talking like that for a year, and I’m sick 
of it.” 

"Look out,” said Red, sarcastically, "you’ll 
fall off if you get excited — ^just like you fell off 
the dredge-pipe.” 

Bobby subsided. "I know you saved my 
life. Red — you don’t need to remind me, because 
I never forget it. And — and — do you suppose 
I’d care what you said about the Government 
if it wasn’t — that I like you so much?” 

"Well, then,” said Red, somewhat less angry, 
"I’ve been hearing about that for the last 
year, too — ^how I saved your life. And I’m sick 
of hearing it — ” 

"It’s only because I can’t ever forget about 
it. Red.” 

"Well, actions speak louder than words,” 
Red threw at him. "If you think so much of it 
as all that, see if you’ll do me a little favor.” 

"I will. Red, and — I didn’t mean to get mad 
then. I know I don’t know as much as you do 
252 


AT THE END OF THE LATERAL 


about concrete — or silt, either, if it comes to 
that. Gee ! I don’t know anything about con- 
crete, that’s one thing sure. I know mostly 
about water, kind of. That’s my middle 
name,” he added, as if to withdraw, conciliat- 
ingly, from Red’s chosen field. 'H’m getting 
to be a hayseed now,” he laughed, in a pitifully 
obvious attempt to regain his host’s good-will. 
“I — I ain’t a brick any more. Red, like you 
used to say.” 

”Yes, you are a brick, too,” said Red, slap- 
ping him on the shoulder. 

“I — I like you even better than Mack or 
Michigan,” said Bobby. '‘I do. Red. I 
wouldn’t let even what Captain Craig said 
change me. I wouldn’t, honest! That’s the 
way it used to be when my uncle was alive. I 
thought I had to dislike people that he was on 
the outs with. But, gee 1 that isn’t fair. I can 
see that now. And if a feller’s brave you got 
to like him, an 3 rway. Oh, cracky! I was glad 
when I got that letter from you — I sure was! 
That was what made me willing to leave the 
reservoir.” 

He was volubly happy that Red slapped his 
shoulder in the same old, friendly way. ‘'A 
feller might get mad at another feller just be- 
cause he liked him so much — couldn’t he?” 

253 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

'‘You’re all right, kiddo. All I want you 
to do is keep your mouth shut. That isn’t 
much, is it? I don’t take much stock in this 
talk up at the lake; it may be a year before 
they’ll do anything. But if you start in shout- 
ing about cracks in the concrete and about silt 
down at the end of the lateral, Merrick will 
get busy. He’ll have it drained and a bunch 
of men shoveling it out while I’m trying to get 
my irrigation films ready. The farmers are 
satisfied. Why should you or anybody else 
kick? Let well enough alone. They get the 
water, don’t they?” 

“Yes,” said Bobby, doubtfully. 

“And you say yourself the silt is good fer- 
tilizer. Well, tell the farmers down that way 
to bring their wheelbarrows and shovel it up. 
That’s what you’re for. Don’t bother Merrick 
with it. Kiddo, the Government is always 
crazy to do something different. The politicians 
want to get people jobs. If you want to be 
loyal to Uncle Sam, save money for him. There’s 
a bunch of hangers-on waiting for jobs here. 
Don’t you let them dig their hands into Uncle 
Sam’s pocket. See?” 

“I — I think you kind of like Uncle Sam, after 
all — only you won’t admit it. Red.” 

“Say nothing till I get my reels made up. 

254 


AT THE END OF THE LATERAL 

Let the water flow. Then if you want to start 
something, go to it. I’ll probably be in Europe 
by that time.” 

Bobby stood in the doorway. He was just 
about to start on his afternoon trip. “I’ll do 
it,” said he, “if you’ll do something for me — 
I’ll do it if you’ll say you won’t go to Europe.” 

“It’s a go, kiddo,” said Red, laughing. “Be 
in early to-night, will you? I want you to help 
me dope out some spiels.” 

Bobby rode along the beaten path beside his 
lateral, heavy-hearted. The fields on either 
hand were filled with waving wheat and corn and 
the great symmetrical stacks of soft alfalfa, 
which, like everything else on the project, 
showed that the first cutting had already yielded 
a goodly harvest. In the midst of this sea of 
abundance great straw hats bobbed here and 
there, their owners quite invisible. Some of 
these waved cheerily to Bobby as the shaggy 
little pony, ambled along. On one of the little 
bridges spanning the sub-laterals a group of 
brown-faced children loitered, their hands full 
of alfalfa, waiting to give the pony a little re- 
freshment as he passed. It was their daily 
custom. The pony had made friends from one 
end of the lateral to the other. 

But Bobby did not meet these wayside di- 
255 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


versions with the same pleasantries as usual, 
for he was troubled. He knew well enough 
what his plain duty was. It was to add his 
contribution of information about the state of 
the canal lining and to report to the water- 
master the pile of silt which had accumulated at 
the lateral end. He tried to soothe his con- 
science by telling himself that water was the 
most important thing just now, and that later, 
when the crops were in, would be time enough 
for repairs. But his conscience refused to be 
quieted. He knew that, as a plain matter of 
fact, some of the farms were getting too much 
water for their own good and were going to 
alkali. He knew that a temporary suspension 
would be a good thing. He knew that the pile 
of silt belonged to Uncle Sam, and that it 
should be used on the experimental farm. He 
knew that silt at the end meant silt elsewhere — 
that all of it did not wash through as Red had 
said. He did not know why he had not said 
so to Thornton. 

But he knew, too, that Red Thornton had 
saved his life, though he did not realize the 
spell that he had cast upon him. He was very 
sure that he did not want Red to go to Europe. 

Away back in Bobby’s mind was something 
else which troubled him, now that Red’s plaus- 
256 


AT THE END OF THE LATERAL 


ible talk could not be heard and he and the 
little pony were alone together. Was the reason 
which Red gave for not wanting the canals and 
main laterals emptied, his real reason? 

Why, of course. What other reason could 
there be? he asked himself. Still, there wrig- 
gled into his mind odds and ends of that strange 
talk, now only vaguely remembered, which he 
had heard a year and a half before in the wagon 
at Mesa. It troubled him that this should come 
back now, like a ghost, to haunt him. But that 
convincing way of talking, that ingenious set- 
ting forth of a case so there was no answer — 
it seemed somehow familiar. 

The pony stumbled over one of the sub- 
lateral bridges and aroused Bobby from his 
preoccupation. 

'‘What am I getting mixed up in?’' he 
thought, and the thought led him off into all 
sorts of preposterous suppositions. 

He dismounted, resolving to forget all such 
impossible nonsense, and by way of being very 
care-free he put his arm around the pony’s 
neck, as he often did, and so they ambled on 
together. 

"It’s only for a little while, an3rway,” said 
Bobby; "just till he gets his pictures made. 
Cracky ! you got to have water if you want the 
257 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


thing real. The next pile of silt there is, I’ll 
report it. I don’t believe I’ve got any busi- 
ness with the concrete, anyway. I’ve only got 
to do with the water; and I got to save money 
for Uncle Sam, like Red said.” 

Oh, Bobby, Bobby! 

Down among the east-end units Farmer 
Thorpe came over to the lateral and asked 
about flower-seeds. Bobby said there were 
plenty at the experimental farm and that he 
would bring some next day. A little farther on 
a child was waiting at a turnout with some honey- 
comb on a stick for the pony to lick. ”Hey, 
rider, my mother wants you should bring the 
Record^ to-morrow,” she said. Bobby prom- 
ised not to forget. A young fellow threw him 
an orange. “Good shot,” he called back. He 
knew where to draw the line in these matters, 
and he was popular throughout his whole lateral. 

Thus he made his ambling journey to the end, 
the monotony varied by such pleasant en- 
counters. The rider is like the post-boy of old 
— everybody’s friend. Sometimes the pony had 
to brush his way along the very edge of a wheat- 
field, taking toll of it as he passed — for the pony 
was no stickler. 


* The Reclamation Record; an illustrated farming journal published 
by the Government. 

258 


AT THE END OF THE LATERAL 


Hardly a day but Bobby recalled amusedly 
those dreadful words, Arizona has a hot, dry 
climate — farming is unsuccessful, etc.” 

It was so unsuccessful now that at the end 
of the lateral Bobby’s clothes as well as the 
pony’s mane were liberally sprinkled with cling- 
ing particles of the bordering growth, so that 
the pair of them were hayseeds indeed. 

The lateral erlded abruptly, for Uncle Sam 
had designs upon the land beyond and meant 
to continue it some day, and off to the east were 
the desert lands where a few hopeful souls were 
dry-farming it. It was makeshift fanning at 
best, and if there was one feature of it which 
more than another distinguished it from Bobby’s 
own farms — he called them his according to 
riders’ custom — it was an absence of paint. 

The nearest of these farms was the one which 
Bobby always called Red’s farm, because it was 
to the proprietor of this farm that Red had sold 
the precious secret. It was at no great distance 
and its chief feature was the advertising matter 
which disported itself upon the barn, addressing 
itself to the railroad that crossed hard by. The 
public was here commanded, in brazen colors, 
to buy somebody or other’s breakfast food, and 
somebody else’s tobacco and somebody else’s 
hferb tonic, and not to allow itself to be cheated. 
259 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

Bobby always rested at the end of the lateral, 
and he was so utterly weary of the sight of the 
signs that he thought he could not have eaten 
the breakfast food if he had been starving, nor 
taken the tonic if he had been languishing away. 

Another distinguishing feature of this farm 
was the predominance of grocery-boxes in the 
domestic architecture. Incomplete trade names 
of soap and canned goods appeared here and 
there; huge letters, S. or B., stood in lonely iso- 
lation, and sometimes Bobby would try to de- 
cide just where the S belonged, doing picture 
puzzles, as it were, at long range. Another 
feature was the lack of fencing, except for an 
outlandish arrangement of barrel-staves and 
wire near the lateral end. 

Bobby knew Red well enough to know his 
weakness for glowing pictures, and he had come 
to know conditions well enough to know now 
that no negative well could irrigate two or three 
farm units, or even two or three farms. It 
would take a pretty active “spurter”'to do that. 
He believed that with care and industry a 
negative might irrigate fifty or sixty acres 
amply; but something was lacking on Red’s 
farm — ^whether water or care and industry he 
did not know. The chief crops were barrel- 
staves and grocery-boxes, and stray cows. 

260 


AT THE END OF THE LATERAL 


The boundary of the farm was quite near the 
lateral end, and more than once Bobby had 
driven some gaunt cow back into its own do- 
main. This he did now, and, thinking there 
would be no objection to his repaying trespass 
with trespass, he strolled up into the second 
field to get a drink of water from the hydrant. 
Here was the usual elevated pond for minia- 
ture storage, such as one sees on an artesian- 
irrigated farm, and the usual signs of over- 
irrigation in some places and under-irrigation 
in others. In the vicinity of the well the 
land was soggy and ill-drained, showing here 
and there fatal specks of alkali. The rest 
was desert. As an irrigation enterprise it was 
a horrible bungle. 

Bobby gave the pony a drink, then took one 
himself. He was not very thirsty, but something 
prompted him to take a second draught. Then 
he looked puzzled. Again he drank, sipping the 
water slowly, then tried it again, taking a long 
gulp. Then he tried a little trick which Mack 
had taught him, of letting it go down the wrong 
way, and of catching some elusive suggestion 
of flavor as he coughed. He closed his eyes and 
took another drink. Then he hung the cup 
methodically upon its hook and tightened his 
lips. 


261 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


‘'That’s Government water,” said he. 

When he got back to the lateral he tried some 
of Uncle Sam’s water, and then he was certain 
about the water from the hydrant. 

It was the same water that had lapped 
against Roosevelt Dam. 


XX 


THE WELL 

B OBBY'S first impulse was to go straight 
home and to decide, on the way, what he 
should do next. His mind was in a whirl. But 
one thing was clear to him — Red was involved 
in this business. 

Then he reflected that he had but very doubt- 
ful evidence to support his conviction. So far as 
he himself was concerned, he was satisfied. He 
had seen the character and source of water de- 
termined in this way by the geological people, 
and he knew what he knew. But in a criminal 
matter, would it be enough? It was enough, 
anyway, to justify a diligent search for more 
evidence, and this he made up his mind to secure 
before he went home. He would take back 
with him all the facts he could possibly get. 

Riding down the lateral a little way, he tied 
his pony to the flag-pole^ near a turnout, and 

^ Such flag -poles are used to fly small pennants conveying mes- 
sages to the rider, &nd letter-boxes are frequently fastened to them. 
263 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

sat down on the concrete edge to wait for night- 
fall. Then, working his way back to the farm, 
he stole cautiously across the fields to the well. 
A dim light glimmered in the distant house, 
but there was no soul about. 

Adjacent to the hydrant was a canted cir- 
cular treadmill with removable connection, pre- 
sumably for some unfortunate dog to tread his 
monotonous course upon and so fill the storage 
puddle. In this makeshift affair the predomi- 
nance of barrel-staves was noticeable. The 
hydrant itself stood on a little board platform 
about three feet square, hinged at one side so 
that one could tilt the whole business to an 
angle of possibly thirty degrees — as far as the 
piping below would allow. A loose-hanging 
weight-latch locked the platform down, though 
this was at present thrown back and evidently 
never used. 

Bobby tilted the hydrant slightly, then, hold- 
ing the platform up, looked into the well. He 
could learn nothing that way, so he broke an 
end from the long stick he had brought and 
propped it under the platform to keep it up. 
Then he began poking around in the well with 
his stick, and found that its depth did not ex- 
ceed four feet. It was no artesian, that was 
certain. Then he felt around the wall with hi§ 

?64 


THE WELL 


stick for an opening at the side; this was un- 
satisfactory, so he squeezed himself under the 
tilted platform, feet first, to let himself into the 
well. He had managed to wriggle in and was 
dangling his feet in the water about to let go 
his hold, when the stick which held the plat- 
form up snapped and the thing came down with 
a bang. Fortunately it did not fit closely on 
the top of the well lining or Bobby’s fingers 
would have been crushed; as it was, they got 
a smart pinch. He was not sorry, however, 
that the platform had come down, for its former 
position would certainly have attracted atten- 
tion if any one from the house had chanced 
that way, and he now proceeded with his in- 
vestigation. 

He was standing chest-deep in water in a 
circular well about three feet in diameter, with 
his head touching the platform above. His 
position was not a very pleasant one, and he 
resolved to have done with this stifling grave 
without delay. So he felt around with his hands 
below the surface of the water and discovered 
a circular opening, possibly eighteen inches in 
diameter. He thrust his arm into it and could 
not reach its end. Its edge was rough and 
rather crumbly, and he pulled off a piece of 
something hard and put it in his pocket. Then 
265 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

he tried to determine in what direction this 
passage ran, but he had not his bearings in 
this watery vault, and was uncertain. 

However, he had learned enough. This was 
no artesian well at all; it was not even an ordi- 
nary well, but just a hole by which the hy- 
drant might be connected with this little tunnel 
coming from somewhere. There in the stifling 
darkness, and uneasy in spite of himself because 
of the tomb-like character of his prison vault, 
Bobby hardly realized the discovery he had 
made, or rather confirmed. He could think 
better when he was out of this dreadful place. 

He straightened himself to raise the platform 
a little with his head, and get his hands on the 
top of the wall. The platform did not budge, 
and a momentary feeling of fright came over 
him at the thought of how it would seem if he 
were really locked in this awful subterranean 
vault with no elbow room, with water up to his 
chest, and with an insufficiency of even the 
damp air which he was forced to breathe. 
Bobby had a strong imagination and he allowed 
himself just a moment or so of torturing pic- 
tures of himself buried alive in such a place. 
He shuddered, then he laughed to himself and 
raised his hands against the platform. But it 
did not budge. He was not really frightened, 

266 


THE WELL 


for he knew the hydrant was heavy. He braced 
his head and hands both against the planking 
and pushed with all his might. The platform 
rose an eighth of an inch or so, then caught hard. 
He could rattle it within this limit, but that 
was all. He paused, dismayed, then terror- 
stricken, as the awful truth came to him that 
the latch must have been thrown over by the 
impact when the platform fell, and that he was 
shut fast in this frightful hole. 

18 


XXI 


BOBBY CULLEN FINDS HIMSELF 

B obby was never timid in a predicament 
when any possible avenue of escape offered 
through resource or ingenuity or courage. But 
he was panic-stricken now. 

For one thing, he had lost all sense of direc- 
tion, and it gave him a hopeless feeling of iso- 
lation which could not have been greater if he 
had been lost in a wilderness. To strike that 
cold, hard, clammy wall with his hands and 
to feel that it held him in — the thought struck 
terror to him. To know that he could not 
stand up straight, but must knock his head 
against' that cruel planking above, and that if 
he lay down he would just drown like a kitten 
under an inverted bucket, drove him almost to 
the verge where despair becomes madness. 

He did not believe he could stand here until 
morning. But if he did and some one came and 
found him, what would that person do, seeing 
the secret discovered? The man who could 
268 


BOBBY CULLEN FINDS HIMSELF 


take his water this way, who could go the length 
of bargaining for this means of stealing the 
Government supply, was a criminal — probably a 
man who would take big chances and, if need 
be, safeguard his practice with murder. These 
were the thoughts which revolved in Bobby's 
mind. He would die, and after a day, a week, 
a month, maybe, would be hauled out and 
buried. Or he would be dragged out half alive 
the next morning and made away with. He 
thought of his little pony grazing near the 
lateral and waiting for him. He lost his self- 
control altogether and wrung his hands at his 
utter helplessness and hopelessness in this ter- 
rible prison. 

He beat his head wildly against the boards 
above, and the low, hollow echo, shocking the 
sepulchral stillness of the place, was dreadful 
to hear. 

Then he got control of himself in some meas- 
ure, and realized that he would be the worse 
handicapped for every minute that he waited. 
There was but one hope, and that was in a 
fight against time and increasing weakness 
and suffocation. 

The boards, though thick, were soft and punky 
from continued dampness. They were softer 
than they would have been under the preserva- 
269 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


tive of continual immersion. If he knew exact- 
ly where the drop-latch was he might cut a 
hole there with his jack-knife, reach through 
and lift it. It was in the middle of one of the 
four sides, he knew. But which side? The 
hinges were on the outside, so he could not 
tell which side was hinged. Of course, the 
latch would be on the opposite side from the 
hinges, and he rattled each side, trying to de- 
termine where the catch or the hinges were, 
but all four sides seemed equally loose. Then 
he pressed against the corners, thinking that the 
hinged side would hold more tightly at its end, 
and that the side with the latch would give 
somewhat at its end because the latch was in 
the middle. These were practical theories, but 
they did not work out, because the platform was 
too heavy. The cover did give perceptibly 
upon pressure, and, using this as a basis, Bobby 
selected the side where he thought the latch 
must be, and decided to bore a hole in its 
center. 

A good deal hung upon his decision, for, as- 
suming that he could live to bore one hole, he 
surely could not bore two, and, after all, it was 
largely a question of blind luck.' 

Giving the cover a few final pounds with his 
fist, he jabbed his knife into a place naidway of 
270 


BOBBY CULLEN FINDS HIMSELF 


one side and began boring. It was difficult 
to do, especially as he could not stand up 
straight, and before he had got very far every 
bone in his body ached. 

He succeeded in making a hole through which 
he could thrust his little finger, and it was 
something to be able to project even that much 
of himself into the world above. His strained 
position and the fact that he was standing chest- 
deep in water and working above himself 
caused his head to swim, and the dreadful un- 
certainty of the result was appalling. More 
than once he felt as if he should drop into the 
water. He twisted his neck and writhed his 
arms to get relief. He felt that if he could 
only stand straight up and stretch himself 
once it would give him strength for another 
hour. 

He began the slow process of enlarging the 
hole after the same approved formula that is 
used in making a peek-hole in the fence of a 
ball-field. Sometimes he had to pause and 
lean against the damp wall until his giddiness 
passed. Sometimes he paused to wriggle his 
fingers and rest them, and all the while that 
awful specter of uncertainty haunted him. 

He had no idea what time it was, but after 
what seemed an interminable period his work 
271 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


was in such a stage that every minute or so he 
tried to get his hand through the hole he had 
made; and at last he succeeded. He was al- 
most exhausted, his head swimming, his nerves 
on edge from the impossibility of holding his 
head upright. He would rather have gone 
through the Pine Hill Cove episode right over 
again than to suffer a repetition of these last 
two or three hours. 

Out oi sheer fear and nervousness, he re- 
frained, for a minute or two, from reaching out 
for the drop-latch. Then he made a quick, 
sudden reach, as one may take an unpalatable 
medicine over which he has hesitated. 

The latch was not there! 

The anguish of despair seized him, and he 
beat the wall and cried aloud. Oh, if he could 
only straighten his neck just once! Then he 
would sink down into the water and die. 

Again he pushed his hand through the hole 
and let it bask for a moment in the free, fresh 
air. Then something took hold of it — some- 
thing soft and clammy. Bobby pulled his 
hand back in terror, and if ever mortal’s hair 
stood on end his did then. 

“Who’s there?” he managed to gasp, and 
paused, breathing heavily and listening. 

There was no answer, but he fancied he 
272 


BOBBY CULLEN FINDS HIMSELF 

could hear a faint sound of receding footsteps, 
as if some one were tiptoeing away. 

He was now so thoroughly upset that he could 
not think. Who had been there? How soon 
would he come back? What was going to 
happen? 

Then, suddenly, with new spirit bom of his 
desperate plight, he plunged his hand through 
the hole again, reached about and found the 
broken stick which had propped up the plat- 
form. With this he could poke around above, 
and he presently found that the catch was on 
the side next to the one where he had made 
the hole. If he could get his arm through the 
hole as far as the elbow, that would give him 
some strength to manipulate the stick, and he 
thought with this additional reach he might 
be able to force the catch. To touch the lock 
where it lay on top of the planks would avail 
him nothing. He must get his stick at such an 
angle that he could pry it away from the side, 
for it was one of those wrought-iron right- 
angular affairs that hinged on the flat top of the 
platform, bent over the edge, and fastened by 
its own weight under the casing. If he could get 
his stick lodged against it down under the 
edge he might push it out and raise the plank? 
ing at the same time. 

273 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


This he tried to do, fearing every minute to 
hear the cautious footfalls again or to have 
the stick pulled away from him by some un- 
seen presence. 

At last, after half an hour or so of effort, 
during which he experimented with every va- 
riety of movement and angle, he succeeded in 
winning the exasperating game of pushing and 
prying and bending and slipping. It would be 
impossible to describe the way he felt as he 
pushed the stick carefully with the slight weight 
of the iron precariously on it. It slipped off the 
stick, but not until the platform had been 
raised above the reach of its pesky little jaw. 

Bobby emerged from his waking nightmare, 
writhing and stretching with unspeakable de- 
light. He looked up toward the house and 
listened. Once out of that frightful hole, his 
courage came back to him with a rush. He 
was no more afraid of a rascally water-thief 
than he was afraid of a worm. As he ex- 
perienced this refreshing self-possession he no- 
ticed a cow grazing near by, and he realized with 
a laugh that this kindly animal had licked his 
hand. 

He knew not what time it was; there were 
no lights in the house, but he resolved to linger 
.thereabouts and see this thing through. He 
274 


BOBBY CULLEN FINDS HIMSELF 


believed that if the hole in the platform and 
the footprints in the mud were discovered sus- 
picion would be aroused, and that the culprit, 
being warned, might escape apprehension. 

He did not try to analyze his feelings; he 
knew his duty clearly enough. This thing had 
clarified his mind, and he saw as straight as a 
survey line. He was out of the slough in 
which he had been wallowing. He felt of his 
badge to see if it was secure. Then he gath- 
ered himself together and started off toward 
the lateral. When he came near to it he heard 
the pony neighing, and he was glad of the wel- 
come. The honest, patient little animaFs pleas- 
ure at his return seemed to purge the air of all 
this subterfuge and sophistry and guilt, which 
he now saw in its true light. 

‘‘Hello, Gipsy,’’ he said, cheerily. “Tired 
waiting?” 

He put his arm around the pony’s shaggy 
neck. “Well, I’ll tell you all the news, Gip,” 
he said. “I had a regular adventure. You 
and I have great times together, working for 
Uncle Sam, don’t we — ^hey, Gip? Put your 
mug over here, you little grafter. Suppose I 
was to tell Uncle Sam how you take honey and 
alfalfa and stuff? How long do you suppose 
you’d hold your job?” 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

This was only a joke, of course, for he and 
Gipsy knew well enough what loyalty meant; 
they could afford to be a little free and easy, 
they were so perfectly sure of themselves. 

''You’re about the only real friend I’ve got, 
I guess, Gip?” he said, with a wistful note in 
his voice. "Well, take your nose away, you 
little musher. I’m going to get some rest.” 

He walked along one of the sub-laterals a 
little distance and burrowed a place for himself 
in a mow of alfalfa. It was warm, but he did 
not sleep much; for now the full significance 
of his discovery forced itself upon him and he 
saw the whole thing as plain as day. He had 
been living on money stolen from Uncle Sam. 
Red had fooled him with his "secret” and 
made him a sharer in his own dishonest gains. 
Red, who had saved his life and made possible 
his creditable career and all his high hopes! 

He put Red out of his thoughts, for it was 
easier not to think of him at all than to think 
of him in this way. To think of him made 
Bobby sick at heart. It was to this that all 
his striving and faithfulness had brought him. 

In any event, his duty was clear and he 
would not shirk it. Uncle Sam should know 
about the silt and about the cracks in the 
lateral lining. The canal should be drained 
276 


BOBBY CULLEN FINDS HIMSELF 


and the other end of the secret timnel revealed, 
let come what might. 

His indignation was now toward the farmer 
who had bought this wretched means of stealing 
his supply. He was the real culprit, Bobby told 
himself, and he should be dragged out into the 
light and sent to jail where he belonged. 

The morning found him stiff and weary and 
with the symptoms of a cruel cold. His head 
ached and he was feverish; but he cared not 
a whit. Running down to the lateral, he bathed 
as best he could and saw to it that the pony 
was all right. Then he started across the fields, 
heading for the farm. His khaki uniform was 
muddy and wrinkled, and he was a sorry figure, 
yet the conscious air of authority was all over 
him and his lips were set. 

When he reached the well he took out a 
little wallet of paster notices which he carried, 
and with some difficulty detached one from the 
other, for the glue had been wetted. This he 
slapped upon the hydrant. It was a form used 
on head-gates and regulators and read: 

HANDS OFF. 

BY ORDER OF THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT 

Bobby next started up for the house, remov- 
277 


UNCLE SAM^S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


ing his rider’s badge from his shirt and placing 
it conspicuously on the khaki pleat of his uni- 
form. Suddenly he swung around and started 
straight back for the lateral. 

“Come on, Gipsy,” he said, unfastening the 
pony. “I want you to go with me.” 

He could hardly have anticipated any assist- 
ance from the little animal, but he wanted the 
stimulus of every vestige of authority which 
he possessed. He was canal-rider on the Tempe 
lateral, and he would appear in the full regalia 
of office. If ever the love of one’s country and 
the consciousness of right gave strength and 
courage, they gave them to Bobby then. 

Nor had he much cause for timidity, so far 
as personal prowess was concerned. The past 
year, with its vigorous, outdoor life, had done 
wonders for Bobby; he had grown like a cactus, 
and rugged strength — and more of it to come — 
was suggested by every movement of his still 
ungainly frame. Moreover, his career as canal- 
rider, with the trust and authority which it 
carried, had given him a certain poise, and he 
was quite at ease, now that he had foimd him- 
self at last. 

“Look out for the mud, Gip,” said he; “this 
fellow ought to have a rowboat.” 

There were barrel-staves laid lengthwise to 
278 


BOBBY CULLEN FINDS HIMSELF 

guide one over the oozy area, and there were 
boards and more barrel-staves to guide one over 
the yielding sand. The proprietor of this 
shabby place had adopted the lazy man’s habit 
of ponding his water and using free wash, so 
that the small part of his land where irrigation 
had been tried, had had all its vitality drowned 
out of it and was simply mud. 

Bobby had rather a contempt for the farmer 
who hires out his bam and even his house-side 
for advertisements, and as he and Gipsy made 
their way now through the fields toward the 
dilapidated, unpainted house, he sneered as he 
noticed the slipshod surroundings. His own 
farms — as he called them — ^were tidy and pro- 
fessional-looking, conducted by intelligent men 
who understood irrigation and who avoided an 
excess of it as worse than drought. Here was 
a man, he thought, who had been dishonest and 
had gained nothing by his dishonesty — ^who was 
simply incompetent. 

Perhaps the best part of Bobby’s training 
was that he had spent his time with skilful 
and resourceful people, doing a great work, and 
that he had come to have a kind of contempt 
for inefficiency. To do a thing and to do it 
wrong; to bungle; to use a good means to an 
unsatisfactory end; to start half-cocked and 
m 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


to make a botch of things ! To turn the desert 
into a garden, what could be grander? And he 
had seen it done. But to turn it into a mud-hole ! 

Bobby picked his disgusted way along. Per- 
haps he exaggerated his disgust a little, but 
that was natural. 

Reaching the house door, he gave it a sound- 
ing rap and waited, his arm resting on the 
pony’s neck. 

The door was opened by a youth of about 
his own age clad in jumpers. 

'^Is the owner of this farm around?” said 
Bobby. 

*^He ain’t up yet,” the young fellow an- 
swered, eying him keenly. 

”Well, I want to see him,” said Bobby. 
^‘You’ll have to tell him to get up. It’s time 
he was up,” he added, with a flippant sneer. 

”He ’ain’t got no call to get up yet,” the boy 
protested. ^'He ’ain’t got nothin’ to do with 
Government water,” he added, noticing Bobby’s 
badge. ” We’ve got private supply.” 

”Oh, you have, have you?” said Bobby. 
”Well, please tell him I want to see him, and 
if he’s asleep wake him up. You don’t suppose 
I plugged up here through all this mud to sit 
around and wait, do you?” he added, with a 
note of peremptoriness. 

980 



w 





BOBBY CULLEN FINDS HIMSELF 


The boy shook his head incredulously. '‘I 
wouldn’t dast to call him; he’d only lay it inter 
me,” said he. 

''Well, then,” said Bobby, "if you’d rather 
tell him that his water is posted, you can tell 
him that.” 

Bobby suspected that the Government water 
was being used for domestic supply as well as 
for irrigation, for he had seen no other well, 
and his announcement went home. 

"You can’t post our water,” said the young 
fellow. 

"Oh, can’t I, though?” said Bobby. "I can 
do more than that, sonny, so you just trot up- 
stairs and tell your boss I’m waiting. You 
can put a saddle on a horse if you happen to 
have one, for he’s going to Tempe with me.” 

For a moment the boy hesitated, then, shak- 
ing his head as if to shift this awful burden 
of responsibility to Bobby, he went in and up- 
stairs. Bobby guessed that the boy, whoever 
he was, was the victim of a pretty rigorous 
discipline, and he laughed a little at the fellow’s 
apprehensions. ' 

While waiting he wandered ^ about with the 
pony. Pretty soon he heard footsteps, and, 
turning, saw a slim man comW around the 
corner of the house, hoisting the single strand 
281 \ 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


of suspender which he wore up on to his shoul- 
der. He approached with a kind of sideways 
gait which somehow struck Bobby as familiar, 
and he was evidently very much nettled. 

'*Well, sir,” he called, sharply, 'Vhat are 
you doing trespassing here?” 

Bobby stared at him at first, puzzled, then 
dismayed. Then he reached nervously for the 
pony’s rein, fumbled with it, and stood rooted 
to the ground in speechless amazement. 

For it was his uncle, Rafe Clausen, who stood 
before him. 


XXII 


THE GOOD SCOUT LAW 

— I didn’t know it was you,” Bobby stam- 

1 mered, weakly. 

For a minute his uncle did not seem to recog- 
nize him. Then he said with equal perturba- 
tion: ^'It ain’t yoUj Bobby, is it? I’m blessed 
if it ain’t really you — sure enough.” 

Yes, it’s me,” Bobby managed to ejaculate. 
'^I — I thought you were dead. I didn’t know 
you were here — I didn’t. I came on account 
of — of the water.” 

"And you was thinking to make trouble for 
me, hey, Bobby, and me your own uncle; and 
I thinking to order you off for one of them 
Government busybodies ; and here we are 
facing each other, me and you. My, how you 
have grown up, Bobby! And so you’re one of 
the riders, too! Well, well! And you thought 
I was dead. Not me. I escaped, Bobby, but 
your poor aunt, she was lost, Bob.” 

As Bobby looked at his uncle he wondered 

19 283 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


how it had ever been possible for the latter to 
chastise him. Whether it was because he him- 
self had grown so much or because his uncle 
had shriveled up he knew not, but Mr. Clausen 
was now a pitiable figure. His clothing was in 
the last extreme of shabbiness, not the whole- 
some shabbiness of the careless Westerner, but 
the seediness of the unsuccessful Easterner. He 
looked hardly better than a tramp, and his 
prompt and obvious attempt to establish an 
amicable understanding with his nephew filled 
Bobby with disgust. It was evident that the 
last vestige of decent pride had departed from 
his uncle and that he was a broken man. 

'‘About the water, hey? Well, what about 
the water, Bobby? You see me here, Bobby, 
trying to make an honest living, after all I had 
to suffer. And this boy, Bobby,” he whispered, 
nodding toward the house, "he ain’t what you 
was, Bobby. He ’ain’t got your brains. I 
always said you’d make a man, Bobby. I used 
to tell your aunt so, when she’d be impatient 
with you.” 

"She wasn’t impatient,” said Bobby, nettled. 
"Are you sure she was killed?” 

"Sure as taxes. Bob. And me, I was cheated 
out of half of the insurance that I worked so 
hard to pay. Don’t you ever buy insurance, 
284 


THE GOOD SCOUT LAW 


Bobby. So I bought this little patch of desert, 
Bobby — and — here I am.’’ 

came out here with one of the Govern- 
ment engineers who was in Bridgeboro after the 
flood,” said Bobby, after a pause. ‘‘I’m in 
Government service for good. I’m going on 
river work and forestry next year. I have 
charge of the Tempe lateral now.” 

“Well, and isn’t that fine? And you never 
knew your poor uncle was struggling away here, 
trying to make two ends meet.” 

“If you didn’t pond the water you wouldn’t 
get so much alkali,” said Bobby, coldly, “and 
you could raise stuff. The only stuff you can 
raise now is mushrooms.” 

“You remember the mushrooms, hey, Bobby? 
Many’s the tiff you and me had over the mush- 
rooms.” 

“I’m just telling you,” said Bobby. 

“Well, and now I got trouble about my 
water, it seems,” Mr. Clausen said, eying his 
nephew shrewdly. 

“It isn’t your water,” said Bobby, looking 
straight at him; “it’s the Government’s water. 
If you used it right and had furrow flow and 
drains you could irrigate a couple of forties, 
maybe. But it would be stealing just the: 
same. A year ago I was fool enough to think! 

285 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


three or four farm units could be irrigated with 
a negative well. I’ve learned something since 
then. If that down there,” he added, pointing 
to the well, '‘was a negative artesian it wouldn’t 
irrigate this land, let alone your neighbor’s. 
You’d have got stung. But it isn’t an artesian, 
and you know it isn’t. You get enough water 
through that tunnel, or whatever it is, to raise 
stuff; but you can’t raise stuff lying in bed 
in the morning and having signs painted on 
your barn — you can’t.” 

"Who says ’tisn’t my water? And what’s 
this talk about a tunnel — or something?” 

"/ say it isn’t. It’s not warm enough for 
artesian water, and it don’t taste like it. Be- 
sides, I was in the well and found the tunnel.” 

"Trespassing, hey?” 

"Why, sure I was trespassing. Can’t you see 
I was?” 

"Well, I’m ready to forget it. Never you 
mind about wells that’s on private land, my 
boy. There’s all different kinds of water, 
Bobby, and blood’s thicker than any of ’em, 
remember that. You wouldn’t go back on 
your uncle, would you, and start up a lot of 
trouble?” 

Bobby hesitated. "No, I wouldn’t,” he said. 
I wanted to do that I wouldn’t tell you 

m 


THE GOOD SCOUT LAW 

what I’m going to tell you, that’s one sure 
thing.” 

“It sounds natural to hear you talk, Bob.” 

“I know I got to be loyal to you. I came 
here to order you to come to Tempe with me, 
and I could do it, too,” he added, proudly. “I 
got more strength than you have.” 

“I’m very poorly, Bobby.” 

“But that was before I knew it was you. 
I’ll tell you now that the lateral is going to be 
emptied and cleaned out, and the other end of 
your tunnel will be discovered. I’m going to 
put in my report to-morrow. I know who you 
bought the secret from; it was Thornton, and 
I suppose it’s an old sub-tunnel. I know you 
gave him three hundred dollars for it. I live 
in Thornton’s house, and he’s — he was — ^he’s a 
friend of mine.” 

“That looks bad for you, Bobby.” 

“Never you mind about that. I just want 
you to know that I know the whole business. 
So there isn’t any use talking about it. I had 
my mind all made up what I was going to do, 
but now I can’t do it — because I got to be loyal. 
And even if I didn’t have to be loyal I’d be 
sorry for you, because you don’t know how to 
do things right. I got to be sorry for you, 
kind of. And — and I got to remember how 
287 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


you topic me to a show once. And once you 
gave me a quarter.” 

had more money in those days, Bobby, 

boy.” 

'^So now I’m going away,” said Bobby, 
'‘back to Tempe, and I tell you that I won’t 
say a word to anybody till I see you again to- 
morrow. You have to believe me, because 
I’m going to be loyal. I got to think and de- 
cide.” 

His voice shook a little as he turned away, 
for he was much affected at the turn of affairs. 

"Good-by,” he said, starting to mount the 
pony, "and you just wait. I wouldn’t go back 
on you. Especially I wouldn’t now, because I 
see how it is. You never worked for the Gov- 
ernment, and it isn’t so bad for you as it is 
for—” 

"Bobby,” cried his uncle, grasping the pony’s 
rein and standing between his nephew and the 
animal in a childish effort to prevent his mount- 
ing, "you ain’t going to go back on me — ^you 
ain’t, Bobby?” 

"I told you I wasn’t.” 

"You and me can keep a secret. Bob. Don’t 
get me into no trouble with that crowd down 
at Phoenix — ^promise me that, boy. I know 
they could send me to jail. Bob, but you 
288 


THE GOOD SCOUT LAW 


wouldn’t see your uncle go to jail, would you — 
your uncle that raised you?” He clung des- 
perately to the rein as Bobby mounted and 
looked up at the boy imploringly. ” Remember 
your auntie, Bob, and how I used to play the 
accordion for you when you was a little mite 
of a codger. Remember that, Bob?” 

'‘Yes, I do,” said Bobby, frankly; “it kind 
of makes me think of Bridgeboro, now I see you. 
It kind of all comes back, like.” 

He turned his head away while his uncle, 
pleased with the effect he had produced, waited. 

“You went through a lot of trouble — that’s one 
sure thing,” said Bobby, speaking with difficulty. 

“So you won’t make any more trouble for 
me, Bobby?” 

“I don’t know,” said Bobby, “just what I’ll 
do. I — I never thought how I’d have to be 
loyal to different people. But I won’t tell 
them, that’s one sure thing. I got to think 
now what I ought to do. I can think best 
when I’m alone with my pony. And I don’t 
feel good, so I want to go home. While I’m 
riding along I’ll think. But I’ll surely fix it 
for you some way.” 

“You ain’t going to work a scheme on me, 
Bobby?” his uncle asked, suspiciously, still 
clinging to the rein. 


289 


UNCLE SAM^S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


'‘No, I ain’t, I told you. But I got to think 
how I can be fair to everybody, haven’t I? 
It’s different now, kind of, since I found it 
was you.” 

He looked straight at his uncle with brim- 
ming eyes, and Rafe Clausen saw that he could 
be trusted. Yet still he dropped the rein re- 
luctantly and stood right where he was, watch- 
ing with a look of apprehension as his nephew 
rode away. When Bobby had nearly reached 
the ramshackle fence he turned and saw his 
uncle going toward the house with that familiar, 
sideways gait which the boy was now old enough 
to distinguish as the mark of a prideless, weak, 
and broken character. And down in his gen- 
erous, unresentful heart he realized with un- 
speakable pity why his uncle was such a failure. 
Even as a young boy in Bridgeboro he had had 
a sort of vague consciousness of it. He realized 
this now; and he saw that even the influence 
of Uncle Sam could not help such a man. His 
own boyish idea of a drain-ditch outside the 
house in Bridgeboro and his uncle’s reception 
of the suggestion struck the key-note of both 
their characters and read their two fortunes 
for them. 

Here, in the midst of a barren mud-hole, 
was an object-lesson of the man helplessly ad- 
290 


THE GOOD SCOUT LAW 


dieted to makeshifts, who ties a string on a 
chair instead gluing it, who uses brown paper 
instead of window-glass, and carpet-tacks where 
he ought to use screws. Bobby’s own experi- 
ence with Captain Craig enabled him to see these 
things now in their true light, and his heart went 
out to his uncle as to one handicapped by disease 
and whose doom is sealed. 

He had even made a hopeless botch of his 
dishonest purchase. 


XXIII 


BOBBY DECIDES 

AND this was the triumph of Bobby’s quest. 
l \ The anguish of that horrible night, his 
fine resolve, and all his high hopes of dragging 
a malefactor out into the light had brought him 
only to this. He did not know what he would 
do, more than that he would go home and 
change his clothing and get something to eat. 

As he rode along his mind wandered back to 
the old life at Bridgeboro, to the little ram- 
shackle cottage near the river, to the Bronson 
boys, to his uncle as he had known him then, 
patching up the chicken-coop with a wire bed- 
spring, or sitting with his feet in the oven, play- 
ing the accordion. He bore no resentment tow- 
ard his uncle; he merely felt sorry for him. 
He was even sorry for the momentary anger he 
had shown. It touched his pride to think that 
his own uncle had come out here and made 
such a botch where other men had wrought a 
miracle, fraternally joining hands with Uncle 
292 


BOBBY DECIDES 


Sam, making a science of farming and throwing 
down the gantlet to the desert. He was al- 
most as much ashamed of his uncle's inefficiency 
as he was of his dishonesty. 

As for Red, he tried not to think of him at 
all; yet he could not entirely forget him, for 
he owed his life to Red. 

‘‘It’s all a muddle, anyway,” he said to him- 
self. “ Cracky ! I told Mr. Bronson it might be 
you’d have to be loyal two different ways, 
like; and he said ‘No.’ But I was right, 
anyway.” 

He tried to straighten things out as he rode 
along, and when he had almost reached home he 
had about formed his plan. 

Red was not in the ranch-house when he 
entered, but there was a note, evidently scrib- 
bled hurriedly, which read: 

Kiddo, — ^Waited for you last night. Where the dickens 
were you? Have to go away for a few days. Will write. 

Red. 

He was rather glad of Red’s absence, for he 
knew not how he would face him nor what he 
would say. Though he was perfectly sure of 
himself now, he dreaded Red’s engaging manner 
and convincing way of talk. Red had often 
been away for two or three days. 

293 


UNCLE SAM^S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


After changing his clothes and feeding the 
pony, he made himself a cup of coffee and ate 
what was ready to hand. 

Then he rode into Phoenix. At the Federal 
Building he had to wait his turn, as usual, to 
see Luke. When he did go in the water- 
master’s big visage and friendly smile acted 
like a tonic on him, just the same as it had that 
first morning in Mesa, when his cordial greet- 
ing seemed to clear the air of the words which 
he now knew had been spoken by Red Thornton. 

'‘Well, how’s the water flowin’, son? I hear 
Willis down yoiu* way is experimentin’ with 
dates?” 

"It’s no experiment,” said Bobby; "he’s 
got away with it. He’s using his whole south 
sub for them.” 

"Well, yer got a wide-awake lot along yer 
ditch, son. Yer got the north main canal beat 
a mile. That’s what I tell the boys up there.” 

"Yes,” laughed Bobby. "You tell each one 
the same thing.” 

Luke laughed, too. "Well, what’s new, son?” 

"Oh, one or two things,” said Bobby, trying 
to speak carelessly. "There’s a pile of silt at 
the end of my lateral — about a wagon-load, 
I guess. The farmers down there want it.” 

"What ’d yer tell ’em?” 

294 


BOBBY DECIDES 


Nothing, yet.” 

''Guess Uncle Sam 11 use that silt himself, 
Bob.” 

"That's what I thought. Then there’s some- 
thing else. I want some copies of the Record 
to take along. I want some flower-seeds, too.” 

"All right, sir.” 

"And there’s some long cracks in the con- 
crete along my lateral. I don’t know how it is 
under water, but I suppose it’s the same.” 

Luke rooted among his papers and handed 
Bobby a pad of printed notices which read: 

NOTICE 

On Friday, the 15th inst., the head-gates and 
regulators will be closed at sundown and will 
remain closed from fifteen to thirty days pend- 
ing the cleaning and repairing of the canals 
and main laterals. 

"Glad yer spoke of it, son. I almost forgot. 
Yer better post those notices on the pennant- 
poles and gates and hand ’em around to the 
farmers. Tell ’em we figger it ’ll take three or 
fotur days for the canals to exhaust. Out o’ 
twenty-seven riders yer the only one that’s 
noticed the cracks enough to report on ’em. 
Guess that’s the trainin’ yer got up to Roose- 
velt, hey?” 

:29s 


UNCLE SAM^S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

'‘Maybe the other ditches aren’t so bad,” 
said Bobby, modestly. 

"Maybe the other riders ’ain’t got Engineer 
Cullen’s trainin’. I’m glad yer spoke of it be- 
fore I did; it shows yer got eyes, like I always 
told Cap’n Craig.” 

Bobby was glad, too, that he had spoken of 
it first arid voluntarily. It might have made a 
big difference if he had not. To have done so 
cleared his conscience. 

When he left the water-master’s office he went 
into the post-office down-stairs and drew out 
the three hundred and twenty dollars which he 
had saved. There had been little chance to 
spend money up at Roosevelt, and the habit of 
saving thus acquired continued naturally amid 
the allurements of Phoenix and Tempe. He had 
sent back the fifty dollars which Mr. Bronson 
had given him; he had sent ten dollars to the 
fund for "a new Bridgeboro,” taking a certain 
benevolent pride in thus remembering his old 
home in these days of opulence; he had spent 
a little for clothing, and that was about all. 
His surprise at his own prosperity and thrift 
was a surprise experienced by many a reclama- 
tion worker, who, as the expression went, had 
his freshets without any spillway. Bobby was 
now saving to take a college course, and he had 
^296 


BOBBY DECIDES 


a secret ambition, which he did not divulge, 
of buying Gipsy for his very own. 

He stayed that night at the experimental 
farm in Tempe and went off to his territory 
early in the morning. Notices similar to the 
ones he carried with him had been already posted 
here and there in the town, and several people 
halted him to ask about the suspension of water 
supply. 

Reaching his laterals, he posted the notices 
at every turnout as he rode along, and com- 
municated the order verbally to every one he 
met. At one of the subs a farm-hand greeted 
him, stroked the pony and said, '‘Well, Gip, 
yer master buy yer yet?” 

"Not yet,” said Bobby. "Maybe I won't. 
I can’t tell.” 

On the whole, he felt better as he rode along 
than he had felt the day before. 

Reaching the lateral end, he drove a stick 
into the pile of silt and put one of his "Hands 
Off” notices on it. Then he started across the 
fields for his uncle’s farm, the pony jogging 
companionably at his side. 

"So you’ve come, Bobby,” said his uncle. "I 
knew you would — I knew you could be trusted.” 

For all that, he looked very anxious and sus- 
picious, and Bobby guessed he had not slept. 

297 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


'‘What did Red Thornton tell you?” he asked, 
seating himself on the edge of the dilapidated 
porch. 

“Well, now, I’ll tell you, Bob, just what he 
told me,” Mr. Clausen answered, sitting down 
quite confidentially beside him. “ Between you 
and me I don’t think much of that fellow Thorn- 
ton. I don’t like his eye. Bob.” 

“What did he tell you?” 

“He told me about how there was an old 
tunnel used by ancient people that began down 
here near my well and ran out almost to the 
Government canal. He said he’d connect it 
with the canal. There used to be a house down 
where that well is. Bob; I used the stones of 
it for the — the — ” 

“Fake artesian,” said Bobby. 

“That’s it, Bob; he was a clever one, that 
Thornton.” 

For a few minutes Bobby sat in silence. 
“Well,” said he, at last, “I’ve thought it all 
over. I thought about it going home, and I 
thought about it when I was alone last night. 
And I’ve decided there’s only one thing* to do. 
I have to decide myself, because I can’t ask 
anybody.” 

“Oh, you wouldn’t do that, Bobby!” 

“They’re going to empty the lateral. I re- 

298 


BOBBY DECIDES 


ported that there were cracks in it and silt. 
I had to do that; but they were going to do it, 
anyway. The head-gates and regulators have 
to be shut for good in two days. And, of 
course, when they find the hole in the lateral 
and trace it they’ll arrest you.” 

”You wouldn’t see them do that. Bob?” 

”No, I wouldn’t. But I wouldn’t see you 
keep on cheating the Government, either. I 
don’t know how much water you’ve used. All 
I know is it hasn’t done you any good. Your 
rates for a year would be about two hundred 
and fifty dollars. I can’t ask them to compute 
it, because then they’d know. So we have to 
guess, kind of. I’ve decided to say that you 
owe Uncle Sam one hundred and fifty dollars.” 

” Uncle Sam is rich, Bobby; he can afford 
to lose it.” 

Bobby ignored the remark. “You haven’t 
got any money yourself, have you?” he asked. 

“Not a red cent. Bob; and they could 
close me out any time here; that’s the plain 
truth.” 

“Well, then,” said Bobby, “you have to do 
just what I say. First you have to get a piece 
of paper and write what I tell you.” 

“Now listen here, Bobby — ” 

“I made up my mind I’d be respectful to 

20 299 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


you and not get angry,” Bobby interrupted, 
‘‘because you’re my uncle and I’m sorry for 
you, too. But if you don’t do just what I say 
I’ll get on that pony and ride away, and in a 
week you’ll be arrested. I’ve worked for the 
Government going on two years, and it’s made 
a man out of me. We ain’t in Bridgeboro any 
more. You’ve got to do as I say now. Now go 
and get a piece of paper.” 

His uncle sat looking at him for a moment, 
then rose and entered the house. After a few 
minutes he returned and resumed his seat with 
a piece of paper and a pencil in his hand. 

“There’s something the Government has,” 
said Bobby, simply, “that they call a con- 
science fund. I heard a man talking about it 
to Mr. Leighton, the resident engineer up at 
Roosevelt. It’s a dandy idea — that’s one sure 
thing,” he added, with that odd reversion to 
his old boyish manner. “I saw it was a good 
idea as soon as I heard about it. People that 
have cheated the Government just send the 
money in when it troubles their consciences, 
like. They don’t have to sign their names or 
tell where they are or anything. They just 
send the money. 'So that will be the best 
thing for us, because you won’t have to sign 
your name or anything.” 


BOBBY DECIDES 

Mr. Clausen looked at the boy as if he were 
talking in a foreign language. 

''Now you write what I say and then 111 
send it in with the money, and then 111 give 
you a hundred and fifty dollars more to go 
away with. If you start talking about it I 
won't do it," he added. 

"You wouldn't be such a fool, Bobby — " 

"Take the paper and write what I say,'’ 
said Bobby. "Address it to the Reclamation 
Service, Washington, D. C. 

‘T used some water that I had no right to, and it comes 
to about a hundred and fifty dollars as near as I can 
make out. So I send you a hundred and fifty dollars. 
If I knew what it was exactly I would send it. I am 
sorry I cheated you, especially because it is such a fine 
thing you are doing.” 

Bobby read the note, then pulled out of his 
pocket the precious three hundred and twenty 
dollars which he had saved. Very methodically 
he counted out a hundred and fifty, rolled the 
bills up with the letter and returned them to 
his pocket. He then detached two ten-dollar 
bills from the other pile and handed the hun- 
dred and fifty to his uncle. 

"That 'll take you back to Bridgeboro if you 
301 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


want to go,” he said; ”but, anyway, you ought 
to go far away from here, and you ought to go 
right away. Some men who go back East say 
that irrigation is no good, just because they 
failed. You ought not to say that, because it 
wouldn’t be fair. You can always write to me, 
and if I get along all right I’ll help you more, 
if I can. And when you let me know where 
you are I’ll write to you, too. I’m sorry if I 
got mad yesterday.” He rose, but hesitated 
before mounting the pony. ”It was the only 
way I could think of to be loyal,” he said, ”and 
it makes me think of Bridgeboro when I see 
you. Last night I got to thinking how you 
played checkers with me, and it made me home- 
sick, kind of.” 

It was odd how the one or two things his 
uncle had done for him and the little isolated 
instances of comradeship between them kept 
recurring to him now. 

”I’ll send you the money back, Bobby. I 
may go to Chicago.” 

”You don’t need to send it back. I don’t 
want it. Good-by.” 

Bobby’s eyes were swimming as he held out 
his hand. Then he started across the farm; 
through the sand and sage, through the mud 
and alkali, and so back to his lateral, where 
302 


BOBBY DECIDES 

the billowed seas of wheat and corn waved on 
either side. 

He had divided his little fortune between 
his two uncles, the one who had raised him and 
taken him to the show, and the one who had 
made a man of him and given him a start in 
life. He wondered what Mr. Bronson would 
think of his decision. Perhaps he had not fol- 
lowed the cold requirements of the highest duty. 
He could not tell. He had never expected any- 
thing like this, but he had thought it out and 
done the best he knew. 

It was not so bad. 


XXIV 


PLANS 

T he discovery of the ancient sub-irrigation 
main was a nine days' wonder on the proj- 
ect. When Bobby's lateral was drained a hole 
was found in the concrete near its end, which 
opened into a passage some dozen yards in 
length, communicating with the old distribu- 
tion tunnel. This ran for fully a quarter of a 
mile, terminating at the spot where Rafe Clau- 
sen had dug his shallow well.^ Here, with al- 
most every shovelful of earth they turned, the 
Government geologists and ethnologists were 
rewarded by some new and startling discovery. 
If Rafe Clausen's farm had yielded nothing else 
it yielded at least a goodly harvest of ancient 
relics, and there seemed no doubt at all that on 
this very spot where he had made such a fail- 
ure some wiser head than his had, ages back, 
conducted a prosperous farm. 

^ Specimens of the tiling used in these sub-irrigation tunnels of 
the cliff-dwellers may be seen to-day at the Smithsonian Institution 
at Washington. 

304 


PLANS 


It was true that the very stones with which 
he had lined his well were the scattered rem- 
nants of a prehistoric house, and it gave Bobby 
a shudder when the thought occurred to him 
that the stones which he had beaten in his 
blind fear on that dreadful night in the well 
had been carved by those mysterious prehis- 
torics. Perhaps, for all he knew, the disem- 
bodied spirit of some cliff-dweller had kept silent 
vigil with him in that dank prison, lingering 
still among the stones which had formed his 
ancient home. If so, it must have shocked 
him to distraction to see some of his handi- 
work converted into a slipshod pigsty near at 
hand, and to behold, rising out of a pile of 
stones which he had cut, a pole on which a 
glaring placard extolled the flavor of a certain 
plug tobacco. 

Of all that Bobby learned about the wonderful 
cliff-dwellers, nothing seemed to bring them so 
near to him nor to make them seem so vividly 
real as this sensational discovery. 

But of all these interesting revelations Rafe 
Clausen knew nothing, for he had gone to pas- 
tures new. Whether he ever crossed Bobby's 
path again is not a part of this chronicle, but 
we may be sure that wherever he settled down 
the trusty brown paper did duty for a window- 
305 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


pane and barrel-staves played their customary 
part. 

The hole in the lateral and the short stretch 
of connecting tunnel had been made with en- 
gineering skill, and were all the more remark- 
able because the work must have been done 
stealthily at night. Bobby suspected that the 
man who had talked with Red that night in 
the wagon at Mesa must have helped in the 
work, but, of course, he could not know. 

As the days passed and Red did not return, 
Bobby began to realize— what he might have 
suspected already — that his absence was due 
to flight. He believed that Red must have 
seen one of the notices and had lost no time in 
taking himself to parts unknown. Bobby had, 
and strangely, perhaps, he continued to have, 
a feeling of affection for Red. It was not only 
that Red had saved his life, but that evidences 
of his wasted talents were continually cropping 
up. Even now, while those who suspected his 
connection with the scheme spoke ruefully of 
him, they praised his resource and skill, and 
along with the evidence of his dishonesty stood 
the evidence of his ability. It was always like 
that. 

When Bobby had come down from the proj- 
ect, he had hoped that he would be able, some- 
306 


PLANS 


how or other, to bring Red back into Govern- 
ment service, and he had cherished that hope 
to the very end. But along with this desire 
had grown the realization that Red was by 
nature an odd number, hopelessly cursed with 
the spirit of the free lance, and unable to work 
in harness. Of course Bobby could not look 
into the future and see how Red’s honest fond- 
ness for him was to prove his salvation. 

He bore his disappointment now as well as 
he could, never allowing himself to look at the 
old ranch-house, and staying at the Govern- 
ment experimental farm. The boyish frank- 
ness which had made him so popular, and which 
had won even Red, served him here, and he 
was a general favorite. Yet his eager, unso- 
phisticated manner was beginning to wear off 
a little and give way to a demeanor of self- 
assurance as he gradually found himself and 
realized the possibilities of the future that was 
before him. It had been a big year and a half 
for Bobby; he had seen a tremendous job put 
through, a mighty miracle wrought, the by- 
product of which had been a lesser miracle in 
his own life. He had hit the nail on the head 
when he told his uncle that Uncle Sam had 
made a man of him. 

If he had been one of those redoubtable 
307 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 

young heroes of whom he had read he might 
have gone to Roosevelt as chief engineer; but, 
being just a plain, every-day wide-awake boy, 
he had been satisfied with kindergarten work 
in the noble profession of engineering in which 
he hoped that he was now launched. 

While the ethnologists were having their in- 
nings on Rafe Clausen’s deserted and ruined 
farm, Bobby rode upon his duties, oblivious of 
the remarks which he heard about his uncle. 
He heard him called a swindler and a thief, but 
he paid no attention. He knew that the money 
which his uncle owed had been paid and that 
was enough for him. He believed that Mr. 
Bronson would have approved his course, and 
he went his round on his little pony with su- 
preme indifference to all he heard. 

He never knew that he was himself under a 
momentary cloud of suspicion when some farmer 
asked Luke Merrick if he did not think “the 
rider on that lateral might have known about 
the tunnel and received a bribe for keeping it 
secret.” This farmer was not on Bobby’s 
lateral, and his query brought a storm about 
his ears. The water-master answered with tow- 
ering indignation that his rider had reported 
conditions in the lateral before he had so much 
as heard of the Government’s order. 

308 


PLANS 


One day, after distribution had been re- 
established, Bobby jogged into the farm at 
Tempe and found a letter waiting him. It bore 
no stamp, only the imprint of the Reclamation 
Service at Washington. For a moment he 
feared his connection with the conscience money 
had been discovered, but was reassured when 
he read the letter: 

Dear Bobby, — I have asked the Reclamation Office to 
forward you formal instructions to report to me at Fort 
Skelton near Helena, Montana, not later than the 15th 
of next month, for special work on the Butte Mountain 
Forest Reservation. 

I shall plan to take you with me down the Missouri 
and Mississippi, as far as Vicksburg, possibly New Orleans. 
I should like you to inquire of Mr. Wells in the land office 
at Phoenix for the booklet of topographic instructions used 
by the Survey and for the Civil Service pamphlet. I want 
you to read them carefully — you can study them while 
you’re traveling. I have had sent you the booklet of 
folding charts showing soundings in the Gulf of Mexico. 
Look them over carefully and read the introductory 
matter. 

If you should reach Fort Skelton before the 1 5th you’ll 
find Tom Bonny there, and he will make provision for 
you till I arrive. E. B. Craig. 

P.S. — If Tom should be on contour work give this card 
to Mr. Williams of the Inland Waterways Commission 
and make yourself known to him. 

309 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


Bobby read the letter through a second time. 
He had drunk it down at the first gulp; now he 
lingered over the taste. The Butte Mountain 
Forest Reservation ! The Missouri and the 
Mississippi! Sounding charts of the Gulf of 
Mexico! The Inland Waterways Commission! 
And Tom Bonny — Michigan. 

He carried the letter around with him until 
the next report day, taking it three times a day 
and before retiring, like a tonic. '‘You can 
study them while you’re traveling.” Wasn’t 
that exactly like the captain! 

At the water-master’s office he had to wait his 
turn, and he talked with the other riders whom 
he met there semi-weekly. 

"Well, son,” said Luke, sitting back and 
beaming upon him with that fixed, up-ended 
smile, so cordial yet so shrewd, "how’s them 
prehistorics? Didn’t I tell ye fust off ’bout 
them prehistorics?” 

"Yes, you did,” said Bobby. 

"Weldin get his seeds?” 

"Yes, he got them, and he wants to know if 
he can have extra flow for cucumbers?” 

"Sure. Let him have it. Terry’s ostriches 
hatch?” 

"Fine. He’s going to pluck pretty soon.” 

"What’s he givin’ ’em, alfalfa?” 

310 


PLANS 


So it went on, the little gossipy report and 
exchange of news which Bobby always en- 
joyed so much. Luke usually gave him a lit- 
tle more of his time than he did the other 
riders. 

'‘Well, son,'’ he said, finally, “I s’pose I got 
to hear other folks’s troubles now, as the feller 
says.” 

“There’s one thing more,” said Bobby. “It’s 
a trouble of my own.” 

“No more secret tunnels?” Luke laughed. 

“It’s a letter I want to show you. It’s from 
the captain.” 

“Lord! what’s he up to now?” drawled Luke, 
taking the letter. 

Bobby waited rather anxiously as he read 
it. 

“Well,” Luke drawled, as he finished, “if any- 
body wanted to shoot the cap’n they’d have to 
ketch him on the wing, that’s all, Lassooin’ 
wouldn’t do no good. Well, son?” 

“I want you to give me your advice, Mr. 
Merrick, so I can be sure. I’m pretty sure 
already,” Bobby added, with characteristic 
frankness, “but I want to be specially sure.” 

Luke sat back and thought, rubbing his big 
hand through his hair. “Well,” he finally 
drawled, ‘‘it’s all a question of what yer want 

3II 


UNCLE SAM’S OUTDOOR MAGIC 


to be, son. If yer want to be a farmer then yer’d 
better stay right here with us old hayseeds. 
Bein’ a rider won’t lead to nothin’, Bob. If yer 
want to be an engineer yer can’t do better ’n 
fall in line behind the cap’n — if yer can keep up 
with him. Lord-a-mercy ! I reckon now he’s 
figgerin’ on puttin’ the Mississippi out o’ busi- 
ness. He’ll be harnessin’ them canals up on 
Mars yet.” He paused. ^'Yer want to go, 
don’t yer?” 

‘^Y-yes, I do.” 

‘‘An’ yer jest want me to say I think yer 
right?” 

“Yes, I do,” Bobby smiled. 

“Well,” drawled Luke, “I guess yer are. 
That fust night me and yu stood on top of 
the dam, and yu was talkin’ ’bout trees pre- 
ventin’ erosion an’ ’bout the dam bein’ like a 
company o’ soldiers and bein’ made from idees 
and such like, I says to myself, I says, ‘This 
kid’s either plum crazy or else he’s going to 
be an engineer.’” 

“And what do you think now, Mr. Mer- 
rick?” 

“Well, you know. Bob, what they used to 
say up to camp — that the cap’n could tell by 
the way a kid makes mud pies if he’ll make 
an engineer, I dun’no’,” he added, “ye ain’t 
312 


PLANS 


crazy — that’s one sure thing, to use your own 
style o’ talk. I heard him tell Randel over t’ 
the land office that you saw hig. I dun’no’ 
what he meant by it, son; the cap’n gets me. 
But I guess yer better go. Bob.” 


THE END 


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